Late Supper. Unmowed Lawn. Extreme Emotional Turmoil.

Dearest friends on the internet,

Sadly, it’s nearly bedtime, and I am just now being served supper. I’ll pause while you gasp.

Yes, the woman was “busy” today…something about trying to finish the yardwork before my chemo tomorrow. But I ask you: how is she supposed to be emotionally available for my every mood swing if she is outside... pushing a lawnmower like a commoner? I worry for her sense of priorities.

Now don’t get me wrong, I hate when the grass gets long. It offends the eye and emboldens the squirrels. But I also hate when she disappears into the yard. Because I cannot supervise through walls, and I do not approve of being left unsupervised while she roams freely.

Still, I will allow it. Because tomorrow is a chemo day. And while I don’t have to leave the house—thank the gods—I do have to take my capsule like a brave, noble warrior. And that requires focus, encouragement, and at least one pre-snuggle ceremony.

So tonight I will eat my late supper. I will pretend not to notice that she’s flustered. And tomorrow, I will rise. I will accept the pill. I will tolerate her hovering. I may even purr briefly to comfort her.

Because that’s the kind of cat I am. I’m thoughtful like that.

Yours in soft strength and mild outrage,
Bob
Cancer-Killing Machine. Yardwork Skeptic. Champion of Evening Snacks.