I like to think I’m practical much of the time.
I have bouts of irrationality frequently; my current life/economic/social structural model would be considered incredibly irrational by many of my peers. When it comes down to the big issues, I think I’m doing quite well for myself.
My cat’s going to die. At least, we think so. Here’s the problem: My family is taking it prett hard. Which is fine, people grieve in their own way and so forth. I, however, have been mentally preparing myself for the death of my cat since I got him in the sixth grade. He was a very spirited kitten. Overzealous, even. For a kitten. For the first month I had him, I thought he might have a kitty mental disability because he kept running and crashing into stationary objects. He continued his life with us not as a pet, but as an occasional visitor whom we fed. He often came home with various wounds from raccoons or other neighborhood cats. He’s forever been the problem step-child.
What I’d like to do is end Kitty’s pain. The rest of the family thinks that because his ailment has not yet had a bearing on his appetite, that it would be wrong to unnaturally end his death.
I don’t even know how much pain he’s even in. He’s got a wound that can’t be healed. It’s times like this when I wish he and I could communicate verbally. I try to stare at him and hope his alpha brainwaves will pick up what I’m telepathically dishing out. Sometimes I think it works.
Other times, I’m not so sure.
This feels like Charolette’s Web all over again.