Sorry for the lack of updates of late. While I love gaming, sometimes other things are more important, and so the blog as taken a back seat to various issues. This is not a personal blog and I’m generally reluctant to post things here unrelated to the world of Lovecraftian gaming, but I wanted to take a moment to talk about something wholly different, our cat Oliver. If you don’t want to read the short obituary of a cat, don’t read on.
We volunteer for a cat rescue group. In 2007 they got a call that an elderly woman had taken seriously ill and, lacking any family no one was there to care for her three cats. I drove to the apartment where I met her lawyer, who was caring for the cats in the interim. He’d been dumping food and scooping the box for Oliver and his two companions for several months. They were skittish, fat, and grouchy cats. I had the pleasure of chasing the trio around the apartment for the better part of an hour until I caught them all, bloodied but victorious.
While we were able to find a permanent home for one of the cats, Oliver and Ella, who were a bit older, were never able to be permanently placed. We lost Ella a few years back, but we’ve had Oliver ever since. He is a grouchy old bastard who never much had any interest in people, save for when we were expecting the homunculus, when he sat on my wife every night. His mewing to demand food could be heard through several closed doors, as could his purrs. He did love to be brushed, especially under the chin. As a (our best guess) part Maine Coon, his fur was very long and dense, so brushing was a necessity.
Sadly four years ago Oliver suffered the first of what would be any number of seizures. With medication, the seizures were kept under control, and for a time, Oliver was his old self. We were pleasantly surprised when he lived several months, as the vet’s best guess was that he had a brain tumor and would be dead very soon.
Now almost 20, Oliver’s condition has been deteriorating for some time. He can no longer groom himself well, often gets lost on the way to the litter box, and often loses his balance, even when walking. We’ve known for a while that he’s not well. He doesn’t purr any more, barely cries for food, and he never sits on us. So tomorrow I am taking him to the vet to say goodbye.
I’d like to imagine that, of all things, Lovecraft was right about Cats. I hope he finds a warm spot in the Dreamlands.