First of all, thanks to all of you for the calls and emails and messages and such. Seriously. This sort of thing, as far too many of you know, can be lonely as hell. You folks have made sure it isn’t that way for me, and that is something so special it can’t be justly put into words. Thank you, also, for sharing your own stories with me. It helps keep things in perspective, ya know?

You know, writing this, I realize I used the “NY Life” tag before and will use it for this one as well. All my Fezzik posts have had “NY Life” tags on them. No special cat tags, or Fezzik tags or anything. Yesterday when I was writing that post I considered it and had to stop and think about why I would give him his own tag.

And I didn’t. And I know why.

When I discuss my life here, my goings on and all, he is a part of them. even if I don’t mention him, understand he has a part in the story. If it’s a story about being out on the town one night, you need to understand that when I get home I find him, where ever he’s decide to curl up that night, and pet him some and check in on him and end my day that way. So I might not always mention him but he’s always there, in every day.

Except, you know, when I’m out of town. Then he’s not there, cause he’s here and I’m there, but that isn’t my point.

Still. He’s a part of everything I do, somehow. As it should be. I can’t write a story without him wandering around my chair for attention, not sure why this clacking noise I make is so damned important compared to stopping and playing with him. So, all too often, I stop for a second to do just that.

Spoiled fat cat, ain’t he?

Well shit. Look, I know I’ll hit someone if they’re in my way. I know I can take a lot of pain, of all sorts, and walk it off. I can be colder and harder than many people I know and I admit it and use it when I need to (and sometimes when I don’t). But when it comes to my cat? There is no bravado. There is no standing tall and proud. You can hit me with a baseball (and it’s happened) and I’ll shrug it off (painfully) and give as good as I get. You mess with my cat, on the other hand, and I break down. He’s my weakness, ya know?

And this isn’t meant to sound down or sad or anything at all. This isn’t a fucking eulogy here. I’m just rambling because I need to, right now. I am actually fairly confident that he will be fine. He’s too much of a pain in my ass to not pull through this. He’s a fighter. Seriously. Before he collided with my life he had been in a number of bad fights and he has the scars to prove it.

His nose is still scarred from a brutal swipe. One of his paws is mangled slightly, there’s a toe that just isn’t right at all, but he doesn’t care and doesn’t limp. He takes it and keeps moving and I don’t see why this should be any different.

So yeah, he’ll be fine and he’ll go through some surgery and come out the other side of it. Yesterday when I first heard the news (after I got home, this is, I held it together fine in public understand) I was so upset I hit the floor and stayed there for a good long time. Dropped my phone mid-call to a friend who came right over. Generally collapsed. But it gave me time to think and think rationally. Not to just give into the wave of fear and panic and potential loss.

I won’t walk around like I’ve lost him because he’s right over there. And that big dumb beast is by far smart enough to pick up on my feelings and moods. I pick up on his, too. He doesn’t seem to care much. He’s just treating it like any other day, simply one hampered by a slight problem. So who am I to be a big ball of mess instead of making sure he’s taken care of, spoiled rotten and generally having a good time of it?

So, again, thank you all. This topic certainly isn’t off-limits but it also won’t be in every thing I write. Life is too short, regardless, to spend it fretting about its end instead of making sure the days between have been worth having.

*sigh*

And as I write this he is licking my toe. I am not kibble. I swear. No. Really I’m not… hold on…

Anyway. Yeah, no, that’s about it. More as it happens.