Technically, we took him to a shelter to be adopted. All of the shelters are completely full, however, and the woman said he and any other cat brought in today would be euthanized.

So Moe is dead.

We didn't name Moe as Moe. We got him last March to keep our first cat, Ichiban, company. He had lived in the SPCA shelter for over a year, was with a couple before that, and before that the same shelter. He'd been in one most of his life, and we took pity on him. Pre-baby, he was a neurotic son of a bitch that was affectionate in a cloying but sweet way. He would scurry underneath the couch the instant anyone he didn't know came into the house. This was hilarious during those times when he was fatter.

Post-baby, shit did not work. Neither of the cats have ever approached Garion or us really when Garion is around. But Moe had this expectation that he should be the one to get all of the affection. At least, that's how we justified it. More often than not, out of exhaustion and not wanting him to rub his nose against my hand, again and again and again regardless of how many times I'd petted him, I'd tell him to fuck off.

The last few months, he had been holed up in the back bedroom we use for storage/cat space. He spent most of his time in the 6 foot cat tree, in the enclosed box with one entrance. Either that or on Julia's clothes. Despite cutting back the food amount we gave both cats, he gained weight enormously. When we took him out today, that's the fattest I've ever seen him.

He wasn't happy. We weren't happy with him not integrating into the family unit. And with kitten season lasting until November there was no realistic alternative. That's what we tell ourselves. The truth is that we didn't want to wait until November to see if a shelter slot opened up, because we only somewhat liked the cat and he had outlived his usefulness. The last thing I did to touch him was to brush him out of a crap-choked corner with a broom.

So we killed him. Then we had Mexican food and some margaritas.

* * *

In other news, the role-playing organization I belong to is exhausting. I got into a spat with a big National mucky-muck because I chided him and some other out-of-town players about keeping me in the loop about their intentions. They wanted to mentor my players, but I didn't receive word about what that entailed, and it could've adversely affected the game.

I don't like professional conflict. I tend to brood and obsessively think about it, like today.

But I finally got a conciliatory branch, so now I can dispense with the situation. I like being a storyteller for the game, but it gets me to thinking that I don't want to run for the office again. I've gotten into this idea of simplifying my life. That and I have to be honest with myself: none of those people are my friends. They're co-hobbyists. I like some of them but we never do anything outside the club, and we certainly don't talk about personal lives.

I've been bullshitting myself about too many things recently. That's why I started this up again, to remind myself.

previous - next