Today my brother is taking my old buddy Rumpus to the vet, then when they get home my brother will go out into the backyard with a shovel.
Rumpus’ health has been in decline for a while. He’s 15 years old. I saw him recently, and he was a skeleton with fur. He still purred a little when I petted him, but everything, even purring, seemed at least a bit of a struggle. It hit me while I was sitting beside him in the room he’d been quarantined to after taking a senile leak in a box of my brother’s kids’ toys that I was seeing my friend for the last time. He struggled onto my lap on his rickety legs as I was thinking this, and as I continued petting him and he continued producing his ragged purr my wife called me on my cell phone. I got about two words out before I started crying. Read the rest of this entry ?
Cardboard Gods 
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