Day of the North Sea, 20th of Autumn, 525 M.E. (Electra): I almost didn't sit today because I shaved my pussy. That sentence might need some explanation.

Eliot, my surviving cat, is 16 years old (84 in human-equivalent years). He's been desperately thin for years now, but the vets say there's basically nothing we can do about that. But lately, his fur has been matting, big chunks of stiff fur all over his back and sides. I ignored it for as long as I could, but when I saw an open sore next to one of those mats yesterday, I made another appointment with the vet for noon today.

No diagnosis yet - we're waiting on the blood work to come back from the lab. But in the meantime, they shaved off the matted fur. In fact, they shaved off all his fur - his back, sides, legs, paws, and tail, everything except for his head. They gave him an antibiotic shot in case the sore gave him an infection, added his (overdue) rabies shot, and drew blood. 

He looks ridiculous. I'd post a picture, but honestly, I don't want to remember him like this so I won't. The fur will grow back and we'll have to watch to make sure he grooms and doesn't let it become matted again like before.

It all shook the little guy up, though. He hasn't been to the vet since '22, so getting crated and riding in the car was all a new (and unpleasant) experience for him. Not to mention the strange people poking and prodding him, sticking him with needles, and worst of all, shaving off his fur. We were back home less than two hours after we had left, but it was the most traumatic two hours in Eliot's life in a long time.

Of course he got treats when we got back home and of course I let him cuddle on my lap. As the afternoon wore on, I  realized that instead on my alternating-day meditation, my practice today might just be empathic care and affection for a traumatize, furless cat. I could just sit there on the couch quietly giving my full attention and love to Eliot sleeping on my lap instead of sitting on a zafu in the other room staring at a wall. 

But after less than a hour on my lap, Eliot got bored and jumped off, and walked over to his usual sleeping spot on the other couch on the other side of the room. As he curled up to sleep off his trauma, I snuck off and stared at the wall in my home zendo, so I got my sitting time in anyway, with plenty of loving kindness still left for my little pet.

Now it's back to comfort and care for my shaved pussy. The lab results tomorrow will tell us more about his condition. Worst case: mouth cancer (the vet noticed a sore on his tongue). The matted fur may be because it hurts for him to groom himself with lesions on his tongue. Best case: not cancer. The vet told me as gently as she could that there's not any treatment for mouth cancer for an elderly cat, other than hospice care. 

Impermanence is swift. But so are cats, and we'll see if Eliot still has more of his lives to spare.