We're just waiting on death here. My best friend, my cat Snugglepuss, has been holding on. I'd like to think he doesn't want to leave me. Each day becomes a little slower. Is he in pain? I don't believe so. Of course he can't tell me. He's still eating good and drinking. Even can still jump up on the couch. But the funny thing is, I want him to die. I want him to die at home. I don't want to carry him to the vet and have him put to sleep. I feel like the executioner then. But I will not let him hurt. His comfort will overrule my selfishness. His day will be filled with my love and care.
When you are a depressive and live alone, well, an animal feels like all you've got. They are your companion. They are the only solace you have against the dark demons.
But in a strange sense they are also the reminder that in the final analysis we only live to die. There are no infinite breaths. There are no days of expecting that the best is yet to come. We begin and end with a whimper. Go ahead and shout and laugh and be as positive as you want about your life. It all ends with a whimper. And tears.