Well kids, Marvin died today. It's a long sad story that doesn't get any happier if you add words, so suffice it to say that my first effort at parenting was a total disaster. Hard to get much confidence out of the fact someone like Britney Spears can raise two kids and I can't keep a poor kitten alive for two weeks.
I don't really think that I can explain why I cried like a four year old over the death of an animal I'd known for less that the amount of time it takes my mother to program a VCR, but I think it was the sense that I had so totally failed. Failure itself I'm familiar with. I do it often, and like anything it gets easier with practice. It was the idea that someone else was counting on me not to screw up, or cut corners, or try and do better the next time, that I was unfamiliar with. Done right, failing yourself is inadvisable, but eventually tolerable. Failing someone that depends on you just to so they can keep breathing is a special kind of hell. I liked it better when the consequences of poor performance on my part were limited to feeling bummed out and eventually having someone send me a toaster.
I suppose this would be as good a time as any to tell you that all kittens end up in heaven and that Marvin is sitting among puffy clouds and Popes just waiting for us all. I don't happen to believe that, but after spending part of my day with a shovel in my hand I certainly understand the appeal. Personally, I think this is the good part, whether it lasts a day or a decade, a month or a millennium, and if you really appreciate how miraculous it is then you can't help but want to suck it dry. The only way I'm completely confident you can stick around is in the minds of those you happen to bump into along the way. Marvin showed that you don't have to do more than spend a couple weeks crapping on hands and asking to have your belly rubbed to secure a spot in someone's head for the long haul. And while I hope it's for more than my crapping and belly habits, if people manage to remember me half as fondly as I'll remember him I'd consider my time well spent.
I'm almost positive that there aren't any parenting books that say you should eulogize a dead cat to your unborn children, so please accept my apologies. I don't even pretend to know what I'm doing. It just seems important for some reason. I thought Marvin was going to teach me how to take care of you guys. Instead, he taught me never to take you for granted.
What a smart fucking cat.
Novel - Ch11
Dunking - wk4
French - Je suis desole.