13 January 2019

I guess I'm holding a wake.

I never really planned to do this. On the other hand, one of the worst things I can think of is being stuck in an airtight box and buried alive, so a wake seems like a pretty good alternative to doing that to someone.

Lumpkin died tonight.

I know that this is true, but part of me still wants to question it. Actually, I knew it was coming. Even before I took these two kittens home on Christmas night, I knew that the kitten survival rate isn't that great on this compound. The mortality rate for everything and everyone seems to be higher in this region than in most other places. After bringing the kittens home, it didn't take long before I started noticing the signs that one of the kittens wasn't thriving. First it was the progressive loss of interest in food, even previous favorite foods. Then I noticed the lack of energy and playfulness. Soon he couldn't stay warm and spent more time in the warm spot behind the refrigerator. Finally, he became lethargic, and very finally, apneic. No breathing and no heartbeat are pretty good indicators that it's time to go to the airtight box in the sand. But I can't bring myself to get out the shovel yet. So here I sit, with the other still-living kitten, waiting on the cough in the next room over, just in case when we walk back into the kitchen, Lumpkin will get up and meow at us and then climb up my scrubs to perch on my shoulder for a better vantage point to survey the kitchen counters. I guess the box and shovel are just too final. And it's dark outside. And I'm tired. So I guess we'll just sit and hold a wake.***

***Don't worry, Heidi. I know what you're thinking, but I'm not going to turn into a hoarder of dead cats or anything creepy like that. It's going in the box tonight and out tomorrow when I can dig a hole in daylight.