I started to write up some more writing notes to share, but today’s been hard, so I’ll just tell you what’s going on with me, instead.
If you saw my posts last week, you know that I just got myself a new cat, Catticus, because I missed having a kitty of my own.
You might remember a brief mention that “my ex-husband and I adopted a black kitty named Corvin when we got a place of our own. But, he was definitely a daddy’s kitty, so he ended up with the ex when we separated.“
Well, today my ex had to put Corvin down.
While I was in Kentucky for Imaginarium, my ex texted to let me know that Corvin had some sort of stomach thing and was getting tests and antibiotics. I picked up a new toy for Corvin, then we started to schedule me to visit and it got postponed.
This Monday, I got a message that Corvin hadn’t improved much and they were going to schedule an ultrasound.
Today, Corvin took a turn for the worst, and we had to sadly admit it was time.
Corvin was a sweetie. A solid black kitty, full of chill. Born St Patty’s weekend back in ’08 and curled up in our arms to nap when we were checking out his litter, looking for a kitty to take home.
Here’s to Corvin, my void kitty, mellowest kitty you’ll ever meet — as long as no babies (human or feline) around.
Here’s to Corvin, who, during his first outdoor trip after getting snipped faced down the friendly neighborhood kitty with all the ferocity of 6 month old. After the orange tabby gave way to the brave little kid… and left the newly claimed deck territory, Corvin ran down the steps to throw up in the grass, from nerves.
Here’s to the time my ex tried to teach Corvin how to climb trees — and ended up having to climb one himself at 10 o’clock at night, to get our kitty down.
Here’s to the time we learned our cat was… probably a cannibal. There’s that white and black paw he brought home that one time, that did not look like a bunny – a week or so before we found a mangled cat collar in the basement. [We’re thinking more of an opportunist than fellow-cat-murderer… but you never know.)
Here’s to Corvin, who hated snow, but hated his litterbox more. Who kept trying to make us open the door to summer when it snowed 3 feet that one year, until he finally clawed his way through the snow so he could pee outside again.
Here’s to Corvin, who was always a daddy’s boy, since we brought him home to keep my job-hunting ex company, through the divorce when I had to say goodbye, and into a new home and new kitty friends.
I miss you. A new cat will never change that.