We had a bereavement today. Bacardi, one of our basement cats (literally, they're both black and they both stay in the basement) passed away after a brief illness. He didn't suffer, and from his body posture, I'm guessing he simply fell over on his way to the litter box. But it became my job to play kitty coroner and take him off to the vet for cremation. It's a creepy basement anyway, but... There's something horrid about picking up the body of someone you'd just been petting and making nice with the night before.
We cleaned out some of the basement this evening, and spent some time with Ebony (who, oddly enough, doesn't seem the least little bit upset at suddenly having a massive basement, two food dishes and three bags of treats all to his onesies -- I'm becoming slightly suspicious of him, to be honest).
Then I finished off my wine. It was a big glass. And had some of Paula Deen's Oooey Gooey Butter Cake (horrible politics from that one, but I love what she can do to a stick of butter). Mom made it for me while I was at work, along with spaghetti and meat sauce, which is my favorite. I'd like to think it was a 'thank you for dealing with something I haven't got the spoons to handle', but I'm pretty sure it was just because I had to pay for the cremation.
I told them to keep his ashes and sprinkle them on the pet cemetery -- he was feral; I'm pretty sure the last thing he'd want is to be brought back here.
So, these are my feelz today:
I am done with this day, possibly even this week. I'm going upstairs to cuddle with my Yoda, maybe watch some Star Wars (alien war zones; fabulous places to be in times of stress) and fall asleep early.