|My sweet Coco|
|Rocco, the once and future king|
|Our boy in his fierce-ish outdoor days|
If Rocco had been human instead of a formerly dressed wonderboy kitten, his age at checkout time would have been 73 – just one year younger than TAB. No wonder they got on reasonably well (as well as Rocco got on with anyone besides me, that is) – they were of the same generation. Rocco'd probably been in Nam too...oh wait..nevermind.
MONDO guilt took no time at all to move in and get busy. Of course – guilt is my superpower after all. I was already fretting over all I should’ve done for my boy. Like, ya know:
- Baked haddock for din-din EVERY night (as opposed to every other night)
- Endless strokes with that soft brush he loves and I shoulda done this twice daily
- I shouldn’t have complained when he woke me a 2AM because he was bored (I should've gotten him Netflix. Dammit!)
And then last night I dreamt I was sifting Coco’s litter box (FUN! No?). There were endless poops to take out. CLEARLY, with my mania over poor Rocco’s health, I’d been neglecting my princess! I gotta stop this shit. My little princess gets shedloads of affection, attention and treats.
Today I’ll continue to clean the bedroom – Rocco’s home for the last year+ (after his basement dwelling days and brief flirtation with first floor life). Maybe Coco will venture back in.
It’s rilly fuckin’ weird to sleep in a bed without TAB and Rocco in it.