one paw forward-the oswald series

The vet told us that bleeding from the mouth and drooling might signal the re-growth of the cancer in Oswald's mouth. That was a couple of weeks ago. For one week he struggled to find an appetite. This last week has not been about what's coming out his mouth, it's been about what's going in...

Tuna fish. And chicken. Lots of both. Oswald spent the week eating, taking a break, and then eating some more. For Lynda and I this was a relief and a great pleasure. We've watched as his coat becomes shiny. He's never looked better...

While we watch each of us work through the odd disconnect. Oswald has cancer and the cancer is bound to kill him. Sooner than later and later would still be too soon. Even as I write this I feel only a little embarrassment; a slight shame, perhaps, with this admission that a feline has come to matter this much. It's wasn't always this way. It is now.

Now, as all the wise guys and gals down through time tell us, is all we really have. So this tuned in time of tuna binging is a fine time, a time that matters to Lynda and I. And, I hope, Oswald. I hope this time is meaningful in a cat kind of way.

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This morning there was a smear of blood by Oswald's dish. I called the vet and made an appointment for after work. When I walked out to my car I saw that the clouds were salmon-coloured, the air was cool and fresh. I registered this. It was beautiful. There have been flashes during this time, flashes of understanding that life can be beautiful and sad, all in the same day, all in the same moment.

Oswald and I drove to the vet around 4:30PM. The sky was darkening, and lonely-looking. It was a lonely quiet drive. Oswald meowed once, and then watched through his travel cage. He was quiet at the vet's office. The other animals and their animal owners sat with us, all of us attached only to the fur-bearer on our own lap. The vet examined Oswald. He has an infection at the site of his surgery. We'll give him anti-biotics. The vet cauterized the wound. I held Oswald's mouth open while the vet did his work. I felt useful...

When Oswald and I got home he had a bit of an anxiety attack, his breath coming in gasps while Lynda soothed him. I had an attack of temper, complaining loudly that all the news is bad now, and I don't like it. I won't join you in the toilet Lynda said. Good. More room for me to do the backstroke!

I'm writing because it helps me to recycle all of this. Like air; going in and then going out. Life, hearts beating, sun rising and setting, joy and pain, celebration and suffering. Alone. All one.