Tuesday, June 28, 2016

This guy. This Homer.

He's eating and drinking. Enough so that he's not getting force fed which I won't try again. It was, shall we say, torture for him. It's as if he said, "OK, I'll eat already."

Beneath all that hair, there isn't much of him left.

But a bit ago, he liked getting his face cleaned off and asked to be up on the bed. He can't jump up anymore but he can get down.

Later I'll carry him outside in the cool night air: He purrs like crazy and that's the only time he likes being held. It's our thing. The other cats always wanted to be put on the ground and this mama don't roll that way: Too much danger in our hood and I've never been nimble enough to outrun a cat in the dark.

Thank you all for your good prayers, kind thoughts.

As our friend Tony rightfully computed, he's not singing The Goodbye Song just yet.... But soon.

My sweet boy. My sweet, dear boy.

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