"Nothing could be more fun than watching an animal die." Have you ever heard anyone express such an opinion? I wonder how people who work in slaughterhouses feel about this.
For me, in the past two years, I have had to watch two animals die: my 17-year-old female cat, Lita (named for guitarist Lita Ford), and now, tonight, my 9 1/2 year-old cat, Arlo (given the name in deference to the poet/activist/musician Arlo Guthrie). Now, the real animal lovers in the crowd would ask, "WHY ARE YOU NOT SPENDING TIME WITH YOUR CAT--instead of writing in your dumb blog?"
The answer is that I can't find him right now. He's hiding in the room. I rented a really heart-filled film from Iran, THE WHITE BALLOON." I thought Arlo and I might watch it together. I hope I find him. Oh, he's under the bed. I will sleep with him tonight and take him tomorrow, if I can get an emergency appointment. It's so awful. He's not even purring.
When Lita was put to sleep, she was purring so was Bat, her son, when he died in the mid-nineties.
Arlo and I will stay together. I can't let him go, that's the problem.
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