Simon is really sick, for the first time in his fifteen and a half years. I am scared he won’t make it.

The vets still haven’t even made a diagnosis to explain the non-appetite, the closed-up eye, chronic bloody nose, confusion, listlessness, and worst of all, the seizure he had on the bed last night.

He took a real turn for the worse this weekend, after weeks of what was just supposed to be an upper respiratory infection, which we had been treating with meds.

My first cat pal died of leukemia when I was 13 and he was 8. He had a seizure at the foot of my bed, too. He was euthanized a short while later.

Simon is the best cat I have ever known. He and I have a bond you don’t see often between kitties and people. When I call his name, he comes running, any time of day. He loves nothing more than for me to pick him up and carry him around. He usually insists on being in whatever room I am in. He slept beside me in bed for most of our years together, often with a paw on my neck. Because of the new baby, he has been banished from the bedroom and my guilt is very great indeed. I want him to know I love him and haven’t abandoned him, even as I don’t have much time for him anymore.

I feel horrible. As if my life could get any more challenging. My heart is breaking, even as I am bonding with and loving my sweet precious 7-week-old daughter. I don’t know how I will cope if I lose Simon and must still laugh and play with my baby and give her the care she needs while I am grieving.

I guess it goes without saying there won’t be much christmas at our house this year. No time for it, not in the mood, not enough money, and Freya won’t know the difference anyway. And now I am afraid that I’ll be in even less of the mood to celebrate any holiday, except the solstice, when the daylight will at long last stop getting shorter.