The last few weeks have been short, and too full of mundane activity; the dull kind of busyness that eats up my spare time, and leaves not much of interest to talk about.
Today I woke up feeling ragged and washed out; flea bitten and scabby. My eyes are red and bleary, raw from trying to rub them into some kind of focus.
At work, I force feed the unfortunately named Nyx. She came to us days ago, barely alive, exhausted by the efforts of taking breath, unable to lift her head, little more than a husk. Beyond repair, we were certain she would die.
Tonight she has summoned enough energy to hate me. She exhausts herself fighting against the tiny mouthfulls of food i slowly poke into her. She gags and retches, barely able to breathe around swallowing.
You have to eat.
Her eyes and sinuses are gummed shut with viral slime. I clean the crust off of her eyelashes and wait for her to catch her breath. She wheezes and focuses her eyes on me.
Slowly, she eats enough to qualify as a meal. She turns her head defiantly as i wipe away the thick ropes of food and drool that hang from her chin. I clean her face and paws, clean her eyes again.
In my arms i hold a tiny cat shaped golem, made of twigs and paper.
and yet she persists.
Rubbing her chin, i think about my two Skinny Boys being adopted, ( a thing i've been working towards for months) and am shocked by the sudden sharp slap of sadness. I gasp with the pang of the realization of how much i will miss them.
Fat tears squeeze out of my eyes and plop rudely on the back of Nyx's skinny neck. I blink them back but its too late. I think about the growing list of faces i miss and add my Skinny Boys to it. I think about all the things that keep me awake at night, and all the things i am afraid of. My cheeks burn as more tears slide down them.
Through my sobs a tiny sound reaches me. Far, far away, at the distant tips of my fingers the faintest of rumbles begins to grow.
Nyx's eyes are closed.
Her entire body rattles with an obscenely loud purr.
i am forgiven.