Dying of the Light

This is such a fantastic medium. This is my journal, for all to see. I write at times, to one, and then to a few and then to no one in particular.

And, while I am swept up in the awe of refinding a Kindred, I find my mind elsewhere at this precise moment.

A heavier place. A place I don't like to look. A place I seem to keep visiting. Slowly, slowly, I am learning the lesson.

My house reeks of cat urine. Again. Refreshed by my bitter and angry 14 year old Calico female cat.

I can't do this again. When it was Sebastian, when it was my baby, I put up with it. I put up with his inability to make it inside the catbox. But this is no inability. This is pure spite. Pure hatred of the two children and the other cats who have come (and in the cats case, may have gone from) into our lives.

We have had Bina since she was six months old. A kitten, but not tiny. Still, we are her family. She just refuses to change, to go with the flow, to adapt. As far as I can see, there is only one solution. To put her down.

Find another familly? I just can't imagine it. As I said, she doesn't adapt well.

But the thought of killing off a family member because they are old and grouchy? Well, that doesn't bode well for me down the road. I just have emotional and moral trouble with it. Sebastian had cancer. I made peace with that.

This? I just don't know.

I just don't know.