28 October 2018
Yesterday my ex-cat, the excellent Ma (Martishka Pavlovna), went to sleep.
Ex-cat, not because she's dead―I'd never dream of making a joke like that, obviously―but because she had to move out a few years ago when my ex-partner moved in.
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Ex-partner, not because she had to move out, and not because she's dead―she isn't, I saw her just yesterday and I think I would have noticed anything radically antisocial―but because a year or so ago we broke up, completely unrelated to the cat business.
To clarify, we never actually considered money-making schemes specifically involving a cat business. Granted, as an ex-illustrator―and I am not going down that rabbit-hole again―I have drawn a fair number of cats and kittens for money to help support capitalism, a system incompatible with multicellular life (including, but not limited to, cats and kittens) on a finite planet.
As you can imagine, it was a complicated break up for me and my cat, when my ex-partner (who was my current partner at the time, although I'm actually single) moved in. With memory corruption and unresolved symbols all around.
And now she's gone to sleep with the fishes and the corals and I think that makes her an ex-ex-cat, but I shouldn't say so out loud, especially because it starts getting ambiguous and difficult to explain to people in passing (pun absolutely not intended, I swear, I'm not that kind of person). It is already difficult enough without adding to the confusion.
Yesterday I got a text message saying to come and have a last visit.
But I couldn't go, because I'd be letting other people down if I changed plans at the last minute.
Which is all to say, I'm sorry I wasn't there, puss. I will always miss you.
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