If you have followed me on social media at all you would know that back in November my friend Savanna found a cat on the street in Pacific Beach. He was standing in the street refusing to move. He was basically skin and bones and he collapsed against her as soon as she picked him up. And of course, she brought him to me. We named him Kennedy.
A little back ground, I have had 2 foster cats before. They were brothers (Whiskey and Jasper), a year and a half old. And other than some superficial wounds on Whiskey, they had no health problems. It was insanely difficult for me to say goodbye to them when I dropped them off at an adoption fair, but my joy when they got adopted a month later made it well worth it. This is when I decided that, for right now, I should just be a foster parent. Specifically because then I wouldn't have to make the difficult decisions related to quality of life in an older or sicker animal.
Smash cut to last weekend.
We found out that Kennedy has a tumor the size of a golf ball on his liver. It has metastasized and is inoperable. Chemo doesn't work well on liver cancer, and even if it did, I'm not a fan of using it in animals. They can't understand why they are currently in pain and it may only buy them another few months. So here I am, in the the very situation I was hoping to avoid. So I'm going to do what humans have been doing since they have been on this planet: derive meaning.
I have spent the last 9 months shutting myself off: in friendships, in romantic relationships, in the way I connect to the world. Kennedy came into my life the day after the election. A day when I think a lot of us withdrew. My goal was to get his hyperthyroidism under control and find him a home for the rest of his life, however short that may be. I had no illusions about him having a long life, he's 11 and not a fresh 11. A "I've lived on the street and seen some shit" 11. Even when I took him into the vet for his last checkup I had a weird feeling. You can call that hind sight bias if you want, or just smart or whatever, but the point is, I knew about his general state and that still didn't make these revelations any easier.
So here is what Kennedy has made me realize: You can stay closed off all you want, but it won't work, and frankly it's not worth it. Holding yourself back from anything artificially isn't enjoyable, it isn't real, and it isn't a good long term solution. If you tell yourself "no" for long enough, in any area of your life, it's going to be real difficult to say "yes". Sure that opens you up to getting hurt. But as the Man in Black once said, "Life is pain, Highness. Anyone who says differently is selling something".
I will love and care for my sweet angel boy until he's ready for his wings. And although his last day will be in the back of my mind, I will love the crap out him every day until then.
Mini-Rant:
Kennedy was clearly someone's pet. He was either forgotten or dumped because he was old, or had medical problems or just wasn't fun anymore. When you own an animal, you are signing on to care for them until the end of their life. Not until you can't afford them, or find somewhere else to live, or even til you die. This is not something to be taken lightly, or on a whim. Step your game up humans.
Amazing photos taken by John Cirone: @cironephoto on Instagram
