Oatmeal (shown here in happier times with Shwea, a fellow sun-worshipper and avid napper) was convulsing when we checked in on him last night, so we did what we had to do. Visited the local emergency shelter and had him put down. He was 17, and died after a short and unsuccessful fight with kidney disease.
Poor kitty. Am hoping that if there is any Hereafter for Oatie, it involves lots of head scratches, tap water running 24/7, commodious laps, and beings who love him without reservation--and without allergies. Maybe even old Butler boy as well (though he was grouchy; but then, perhaps eternity agrees with him).
On other fronts, I was forced by Blogger--today of all days--to adopt the dubious Google approach to this site, and I am not happy about it. The only upside is that I found about five reader comments that I was supposed to moderate (who knew?) but didn't, since I had no idea I had requested the privelege.
File under: Oops!
Even have a cranky message, which is rather funny. Honey--I can't be accused of not posting you, for I didn't even know you were there! (But why rain facts on a good rant, eh? Pardon me.)
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