I wouldn't have thought my heart could take it, nor did I expect it would ever have to.
Tuesday, August 25, after Caitlyn saved several frogs from a prank they unconsciously played a part in, I saw a dim white shadow crossing our lawn during the crepuscular hours: Lucky was back.
A week without food (though I think his fat stores helped with that) and his medicine, without which his Grand Mall Seizures would be increasingly frequent, and he comes back. Dirty, slightly thinner than a the last time I saw him, and shaking like a leaf, he meows constantly as he sniffs my hands. I had collapsed i few feet away, coaxing him closer. I then cradled him for a few moments, him purring in his motorboat fashion. A carried him likewise inside, fed him, gave him medicine, and let him sleep in the garage for the next few nights till the medicine got back in his blood stream.
It felt like a cruel joke, taking him away, have me planning on a adopting a new kitten, and the night before the official adoption, cry "Cyke!" and give him back. But it mostly felt like a test. I hope I passed that week-long life's exam. I do know, though, that my friends and family certainly did.
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