Thanks to pretty much everyone, who have all been so supportive the last few days. Amber and I really appreciate it - it's good to write and chat about it.
It's a little tough to be at home in the apartment. I keep looking over to the corner of the living room, where we had had a chair out since the Super Bowl, that Biscuit had claimed for himself. In the morning, he would usually be sleeping there and after greeting Baker at the door, he'd be my next stop. I also didn't realize how much of a knee-jerk reaction I have had when playing with Baker. I find myself petting him when he comes over all excited, and I want to ask, "where's your brudder?". I think I developed this when Biscuit first began his 'heavy lethargy', right after the initial diagnosis in January, so he wouldn't be left out in the cuddling. This almost always resulted in Baker's aggressive-style head-licking / -biting and Biscuit's crying for him to get off, so in that regard Baker probably misses it too.
Baker has also definitely been affected. It's about three days out now since we said goodbye to Biscuit, since we left the apartment with him and returned with an empty carrier. Baker knows his brother is missing, and continues to spend time on and off in the front window, looking outward. It's hard to gauge because I think he has always done that. But now it's more noticeable because we're deliberately watching him for behavior differences. Amber had a late night last night, and he loves his mudder, so his walking around and mewing might have been for her; it often is.
Overall, he seems okay, and much better than I had dreaded. (I feared constant crying from him, leading to constant crying by us.) In fact, the last two mornings he's been trying to figure out how best to lay in my lap as I have my coffee. His ~10 lb. frame of muscles is much bulkier than Biscuit's 7 lb. frame was, so the only comfortable positioning for him is by splaying his body across my folded tree trunk of a thigh, like a mountain lion basking on a ridge. It's cute except for the fact that I then have to leave my body twisted 90 degrees to the left as I type and surf. It's only slightly less convenient than when he blocks the entire monitor, like a black cat-sized censor. Which is appropriate enough, since most of what I'm engaging with online should be illegal anyways.
Sure enough, through all this, I found an article online that refers to a study claiming cats reduce heart attack risks by about a third. What they left out was cats, on average, reduce your risk, but also quadruple your risk a quarter of the time. Like when they pull down vases from up high and you're on the other side of the room, unable to mobilize in time, capable only of bracing for impact and watching the mess unfold. Or when they attack you from the inside the doorway you're walking past, with all bodily points set on "kill". Or when they try to eat your nose while you're in a deep, coma-like sleep. Reduce by a third my ass. Baker better be careful; site traffic spiked to an all-time high on the post about Biscuit, and I'm trying to generate ad revenue...
It's a little tough to be at home in the apartment. I keep looking over to the corner of the living room, where we had had a chair out since the Super Bowl, that Biscuit had claimed for himself. In the morning, he would usually be sleeping there and after greeting Baker at the door, he'd be my next stop. I also didn't realize how much of a knee-jerk reaction I have had when playing with Baker. I find myself petting him when he comes over all excited, and I want to ask, "where's your brudder?". I think I developed this when Biscuit first began his 'heavy lethargy', right after the initial diagnosis in January, so he wouldn't be left out in the cuddling. This almost always resulted in Baker's aggressive-style head-licking / -biting and Biscuit's crying for him to get off, so in that regard Baker probably misses it too.
Baker has also definitely been affected. It's about three days out now since we said goodbye to Biscuit, since we left the apartment with him and returned with an empty carrier. Baker knows his brother is missing, and continues to spend time on and off in the front window, looking outward. It's hard to gauge because I think he has always done that. But now it's more noticeable because we're deliberately watching him for behavior differences. Amber had a late night last night, and he loves his mudder, so his walking around and mewing might have been for her; it often is.
Overall, he seems okay, and much better than I had dreaded. (I feared constant crying from him, leading to constant crying by us.) In fact, the last two mornings he's been trying to figure out how best to lay in my lap as I have my coffee. His ~10 lb. frame of muscles is much bulkier than Biscuit's 7 lb. frame was, so the only comfortable positioning for him is by splaying his body across my folded tree trunk of a thigh, like a mountain lion basking on a ridge. It's cute except for the fact that I then have to leave my body twisted 90 degrees to the left as I type and surf. It's only slightly less convenient than when he blocks the entire monitor, like a black cat-sized censor. Which is appropriate enough, since most of what I'm engaging with online should be illegal anyways.
Sure enough, through all this, I found an article online that refers to a study claiming cats reduce heart attack risks by about a third. What they left out was cats, on average, reduce your risk, but also quadruple your risk a quarter of the time. Like when they pull down vases from up high and you're on the other side of the room, unable to mobilize in time, capable only of bracing for impact and watching the mess unfold. Or when they attack you from the inside the doorway you're walking past, with all bodily points set on "kill". Or when they try to eat your nose while you're in a deep, coma-like sleep. Reduce by a third my ass. Baker better be careful; site traffic spiked to an all-time high on the post about Biscuit, and I'm trying to generate ad revenue...
