A work-free Wednesday in my everyday life.
Important note: This praxis might make you sad, and it definitely will make me sad.

I have three cats, two of which are elderly. Wolfgang (aka Woofie) is 18, Speck is 16, and Ichabod is 8. My days away from work mostly revolve around spending as much time with Speck as possible. He has recently been diagnosed with lymphoma, and his prognosis is three to six months. The major symptoms of the cancer are kidney failure and drastic weight loss. Translation: he is dying.

He's not ready to go just yet, though, as you can see in these photos. He has lost about twelve pounds in the last year and is fragile, thin, and sometimes weak, but he loves to eat, cuddle, and interact with his family, so we're still doing okay for now. He has always been the most important person in my life, ever since I met him when he was just two days old, and he loves me with unmatched depth and loyalty. Trying to prepare to let him go when he is ready is the hardest thing I have ever done.

Speck sleeps on my face. No, I mean RIGHT ON MY FACE. He has always slept somewhere on me. When we lived in New Orleans, he used to crawl down the neck of my nightshirt and sleep in it with me. Yesterday - the day we did this task - he woke me up, as usual, by licking the hell out of my nose. Sometimes he can do this for quite a while without waking me up - I am a heavy sleeper - and will occasionally abrade my nose. So if you ever see a scrape there, you know where I got it. I woke up and let him kiss me for a little while, then served up the breakfast. The cats LOVE wet food - Woofie attacks it like a pie eating contestant, with his whole face. It's pretty hilarious. (Another lovely grim fact: Woofie is also busy dying, but his intestinal cancer will give him at least two more years, and he's in no hurry to go before the world runs out of things for him to eat.)

After the cats had breakfast, I had to give Speck subcutaneous fluids. This is crucial to keeping him alive and comfortable, and I hate doing it. Speck also hates it. This combination makes it pretty traumatic for both of us, but it has to happen twice a week. I'm lucky if I can get him to sit still long enough to get 50cc into him - he struggles to escape and sometimes pulls out the needle, or makes the needle poke back out through his very thin old man cat skin. This day was no exception, and the hydration process was only slightly successful.

I let Speck go hide and work through being pissed off at me, and ate some breakfast myself. Ichabod wanted to play, so we did that for a while. I am worried about him - I feel like his youth and good health sometimes cause me give him less attention than the other cats, probably less than he needs and positively less than he deserves. He is a very good kitty, and he loves loves loves other kitties. His best friend, Friday, died unexpectedly four years ago and Ichabod's never been the same since. He also loves Speck, and doesn't always understand why Speck doesn't want to cuddle or play. I promised him I will get him a kitten when the old men are gone, but until then, he is the invisible child far too often. Speck came out and forgave me, so I also played with him until he got tired and went to lay down. I checked the Internets and washed the dishes, then went to join him on the bed. We watched three episodes of Heroes and I ate salad.

I go out to the club almost every Wednesday. After Heroes, I took a shower, threw my club clothes in a bag, and drove to Molotov's to get ready. We got dressed and went dancing, but I wasn't really into it. I got home around 4am, put on my PJs, and fed the cats dinner. I washed off my makeup, brushed my teeth, and settled down to sleep with Speck on my face.