The house feels empty. Not physically empty -- as Cobweb was, by now, a very small cat -- but emotionally empty. For months now, I'd been expending so much time, energy, and attention on her that it feels like suddenly half my life is abruptly gone. What do I do with all this time and attention I spent trying to get her to eat, giving her subcutaneous fluids, giving her pills, watching if she was using the litter box, analyzing whether she was losing or gaining weight, checking on her throughout the day, etc.? I mean, obviously, my life gets back to what it was before she got sick -- I'll take better care of myself, for example -- but the sudden change is jarring.
It sounds stupid, but maybe now I'll get around to removing the unsightly remnants of the nail polish I put on my toes back in February. It's been bothering me for weeks, but I just never seemed to have enough energy to deal with something so frivolous and selfish.
I guess now frivolous stuff comes back into my life.
I was going to write about the actual experience at the vet this morning, but I've decided that I don't actually need to remember that in detail. I'd prefer to remember her in life.
Note: Shannon wrote a long journal entry about his memories of Cobweb, which I'm linking here for my own future use, but if you actually knew Cobweb (and don't already read Shannon's journal), you may be interested.