"...a Heartbreak Waiting to Happen"

In the movie My Dog Skip, the father says, "A dog is a heartbreak waiting to happen" because they eventually die. That sentiment came home to me last night when my beloved cat Armand was diagnosed with cancer. The little kitten that was born on March 1, 1990, was actualy a time bomb that one day would explode my heart. That day has come. I don't know how long he has, as the cancer seems rather advanced. He gave no indication of how serious his condition was until last night when he began to stagger. I rushed him to the emergency vet clinic at 10 p.m. I feel like a bus hit me between the eyes.

On top of that, 18-year-old Elsinore, who has been sickly for quite a while now, is spending a few days at the vet's. I thought that she, too, would be entering the netherworld in the next week or so, but Dr. Slossberg is optimistic. She doesn't have cancer or kidney disease, but she does have a raging systemic infection. He says that it's bacterial and treatable, so she's staying with him to receive antibiotics, fluids, and follow-up tests. By no means is she out of the woods, though.

I look at five-month-old Simone and see that heartbreak, that time bomb, that will eventually shatter me all over again. It could be in eight years, it could be in ten or twenty, but it will happen. Oh, it will happen. And I ask myself, "Is it worth it?" Right now it doesn't feel like it, but I know better. It's hard to remember the good years when it feels like someone is wringing out your heart like a wet washcloth.

Armand is very quiet and doesn't move around a lot, though he is eating and still likes to cuddle in my lap. But he's going soon. Elsinore...I don't know. The verdict is out for now. She's always been a feisty force of nature, so she may outlive us all. I've been lucky to share so many happy years with both of them, and I tell myself (and others tell me) that they've had wonderful lives full of love and care. Someday I'll remember that. Right now I only feel the heartbreak.