My cat is old.
And sick.
And sleeps all day.
I took him to the vet.
The vet told me he’s dying.
I asked the vet what I should do.
Is there any medicine?
Is there any special food?
Is there anything I can do at all? Anything? Please, anything?
The vet told me he’s dying.
What about magnets?
Or crystals? Or pyramids?
Those psychic healers in the Philippines that I’ve seen in documentaries, they sure look interesting, do they work on cats, and how much do they charge?
The vet told me he’s dying.
Clutched his chest.
And died.
Tag: tragedy
Anchor
Back when gaslamps lit the streets of New Orleans, sailors would go to sea and their loves would wait for their return.
Most came back to port on schedule, or close to it.
Others were delayed by storms, pirates… so many dangers.
When a ship was due, their loves came to the docks and met them as they arrived, walking down the gangplank, that moment.
Or, if they didn’t arrive, waiting.
Late one day… two… a week… a month.
Sometimes, the harbormaster wrote that worst of all fates: “LOST.”
And their hearts would sink, down… sink below the waves forever.
Freak Snowfall
It’s been a while since I last saw snow, but I’m always prepared for anything: cap and scarf on the coat rack, just in case.
Walking from the parking garage to work, I caught a glimpse… a single snowflake drifting from a nearby alley.
I walked over there, and in there was a winter wonderland, dumpsters covered with snow, drifts as high as my knee.
And a snowman, but it turned out to be a bum who had frozen to death, covered by the freak snowfall.
I put the cap and scarf on him.
There. That’s much more festive, right?
Hospital Stay
Ned’s a great guy, always the life of the party keeping everyone in stitches.
Generous, too. Always looking out for other people, the first to pass the hat and chip in.
So, when he broke his leg and went to the hospital, the nurses and doctor and staff enjoyed Ned’s time there.
So positive. So upbeat.
And they didn’t want it to end.
The doctors said there were “complications” and they kept him a week… then two… three… just making sure…
A clot in Ned’s leg killed him.
Even worse, now the funeral director doesn’t want to let him go.
Ice Queen
She was the most beautiful woman in all the land, but The Ice Queen’s heart was no man’s to own.
The Sun Prince, captivated by her beauty, asked Merlin The Wizard for advice.
“Take this potion,” he said. “It will melt the ice from her heart.”
The Prince set out at dawn, and made the queen’s castle in a week.
Slipping the potion into her wine, he watched as the Queen’s face turned to shock, then agony.
Merlin arrived the next day, not expecting two corpses.
“Her heart wasn’t covered with ice,” said the Prince’s suicide note. “It WAS ice.”
Painted Heart
She tears open your chest, dips a brush on to her palette, and paints her life upon your beating heart.
The first time you see her, who is that?
The first time apart, when will I see her again?
You hand in hers, as the ring goes on her finger till death do we part.
And as she pulls that ring off and tosses it in your face.
With one final jab, she is finished.
And you are left there, gasping, as the colors begin to run… and fade… and burn.
She is gone, she is gone, she is gone.
The Diggers
It’s a common thing for gravediggers to moonlight as graverobbers these days.
They steal what the mortician doesn’t steal, cannot steal when the casket is open, picking the carcass clean.
“What good will this tiara do the dead? Are they planning on attending the ball later?”
“Gold frames for eyes forever shut!”
“If they didn’t want to leave this fine ring to their children, then they didn’t raise them right!”
“I’ll pay for the dentist appointment myself and return their gold fillings the moment they complain of a toothache!”
And back to the church they go, to collect their due.
Rip Van Bob
Bob took naps during his lunch hour.
His coworkers teased him about it, calling him Rip Van Winkle.
One day, Bob napped, and his workers made an elaborate prank to make him think he was waking up in the future.
They sprayed his beard and hair white, but he was severely allergic to the spray dye and fell into a coma.
After 20 years in the coma ward, he woke up.
He looked in the mirror.
“GAH! I’M OLD!”
During his painful lengthy rehabilitation, he dyed his hair and beard black.
Same chemicals, but no coma.
This time, he died.
Thank goodness for the dust
Ashes in small velvet bags, lined up on a shelf.
Some candles. Other trinkets. Favorite toys.
Their last collars.
It used to be that I could walk past that shelf without reaching up, smiling, and saying “I miss you.”
From tears… to a smile… now I just walk past, barely notice as I’m vacuuming.
Dusting makes me lift each object, each treasure, wipe the dust from underneath.
This was her collar, stars and moons.
This was his catnip rainbow.
This was the candle she burnt her whiskers on.
Spray a cloth, wipe. Reflect and remember.
Thank goodness for the dust.
Dividing Things Up
Breaking up is hard to do.
Dividing up the furniture, all the stuff.
It used to be you could just sort out the book and record collections, but Amazon and iTunes make that a pain in the ass.
And then there’s the friends.
How do you divide up the friends?
Doctor Odd suggested cloning them, but that’s a hassle, too.
Who gets the clone? Who gets the original?
So he’s experimenting with quantum universes. A universe exactly the same.
But without you. And you’ll go to one without me.
Which solves the book and record collection issues, too, I guess.