I Really Need A Hug

It's only 9:34 in the morning, and I'm already having a horrible day.

Yesterday was great. I was productive, I got to play with Adin, I talked to friends who live far away. And then I walked in the door at midnight, and my mother told me to sit down. That's never a good sign.

My cat has leukemia. My wonderful, funny, temperamental but incredibly sweet, adorable kitty cat Smoke, who likes to be chased down the hallway, and roll around in the bathtub, and stretch out on my pillow while tangling his paws in my hair, has leukemia. We thought it was just a thyroid problem when we took him to the vet. My mother and I are supposed to take him back tonight for more tests, in case they missed something, but it doesn't look good.

And then the vet calls this morning. It's not just cancer, it's Stage Five cancer. Which means that, with chemo and what-not, my kitty cat has, at most, a few weeks to live. A few painful, horrible weeks of watching him get weaker and weaker. No thank you. So instead of just having more tests done tonight, we'll most likely say goodbye and put him down.

We've had Smokey since I was seven (that's 16 years, for those who don't like math). Up until a few weeks ago, he didn't even seem sick. And now, in less than 24 hours, I have to come to terms with Stage Five cancer, and putting him to sleep.

How do you say goodbye to a creature that barely even knows his own name? And how do you make sure he knows how much you love him?