This is difficult so I’m going to do it quickly. I wanted this to be a sort of tribute post, but now that I’m actually writing it I don’t think I have the stones to pull it off at the moment.
Anna readers may recognize the title of this post as one of my favorite Cas Lowood quotes. He says it after his cat, Tybalt, meets an untimely demise in Anna Dressed in Blood. What you might not know is that Tybalt is actually my cat. A black, sweet and slinky ball of sass who pulled tufts of fur out and left them around the house. He could catch flies in his mouth in midair. His eyes were sometimes green, and sometimes yellow.
When he died on Thursday, they were green.
It all happened very fast. A few weeks ago, he became a picky eater, and stopped sleeping between my feet. We thought he had a cold, and tried different kinds of food. We worried he might be feeling neglected, and lavished him with more attention. When he didn’t improve, we took him to our vet on Monday. Blood tests. Fluid in his belly. Cancer.
We thought we would be going to pick him up. Perhaps have a few good weeks to say goodbye. But Tybalt never came home.
Our house is sad now, and full of shadows. It’s too quiet. It’s cold. I would like to lie down and kick dirt over myself like a demented, post-partum sea turtle. But it’s been a dry summer here and the ground is just…packed really fucking tight.
Thank you to all of the readers who told me how pissed they were about Tybalt’s fate in the book. I used to tell him about it, and he would slow blink at me as if to say, “I told you. You shouldn’t have killed me off. I was the eye candy. I was the star. Now be a good girl and give me some treats. Just a small handful, as I don’t want to ruin my lunch.”
Cats pack a lot of words into slow blinks. Anyway, for the next while, if I’m slow to respond or absent-minded with anyone, this is why.