Another old cat health ramble. Just cause sometimes I need to write things out
She’s still doing surprisingly well considering how increasingly unsettling she looks (if you follow me on twitter and open the sensitive content warnings, you know what she looks like - it’s spooky. I don’t post pics here cause there’s no real easy way to censor so it’s an opt in if you want to see her current state or not). And I think the cancer has definitely spread to her inner ear, as her balance problems are getting worse. She wobbled so bad she just about did a somersault yesterday when licking the hairball goo I give them every night off her front leg. Sometimes she rubs the area and it’s not great but it’s still manageable and it seems more like it just feels uncomfy sometimes (which I try to alleviate with the lubricant, but she doesn’t love that either so. Delicate balance)
But despite all that, she’s still so full of life and seemingly pain free. She still plays, eats, snuggles - if you covered up the affected part of her face and chocked the occasional wobble up to her being old or something, you’d never know there was anything wrong with her. She’s still so happy and tbh it. Doesn’t really make sense that she’s doing so well
Like I don’t want to look a gift horse in the mouth here but. It is strange. I expected her to be worse by now and I figured her even living to see october was a 50/50 shot. I had been hoping she’d last until this weekend, as it’s a long weekend, and unless anything goes downhill super quickly (which is absolutely possible), she’s going to sail right through without an issue. November? I don’t think it’ll happen based on the historical rate of growth from month to month but. She’s also really barely declined. The tumour is notably bigger and her balance is off but. That’s it
Idk I should be happy she’s doing so well but I can’t help but like. Feel on edge about it. Like whatever’s going to happen is going to be a really quick decline. She could pass suddenly in her sleep at any time too, or her heart could just stop or a blot clot or so many other things that would be sudden and instant. And while a long, slow deterioration is it’s own hell, so is a quick one that you don’t have the chance to prepare for. There’s no good way for it to happen but. Idk. It just makes me nervous that she’s still doing so well even though I know I should be grateful and cherishing it
Idk. There’s no real point here, it’s mostly a ramble. I feel like I’ve been preparing for it to happen any day for months, have been already mourning her for all this time. But she’s still kicking and is basically the same as she always is. And I’m happy for that, I truly truly am, but idk, I can’t help but think it’s a sign that when the time does come, there will be little to no warning. And while it sucks no matter how it happens, idk, I just can’t help being on edge about that because it still sucks, but there is at least some comfort in having at least some warning
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because sometimes there are invisible tests and invisible rules and you're just supposed to ... know the rule. someone you thought of as a friend asks you for book recommendations, so you give her a list of like 30 books, each with a brief blurb and why you like it. later, you find out she screenshotted the list and send it out to a group chat with the note: what an absolute freak can you believe this. you saw the responses: emojis where people are rolling over laughing. too much and obsessive and actually kind of creepy in the comments. you thought you'd been doing the right thing. she'd asked, right? an invisible rule: this is what happens when you get too excited.
you aren't supposed to laugh at your own jokes, so you don't, but then you're too serious. you're not supposed to be too loud, but then people say you're too quiet. you aren't supposed to get passionate about things, but then you're shy, boring. you aren't supposed to talk too much, but then people are mad when you're not good at replying.
you fold yourself into a prettier paper crane. since you never know what is "selfish" and what is "charity," you give yourself over, fully. you'd rather be empty and over-generous - you'd rather eat your own boundaries than have even one person believe that you're mean. since you don't know what the thing is that will make them hate you, you simply scrub yourself clean of any form of roughness. if you are perfect and smiling and funny, they can love you. if you are always there for them and never admit what's happening and never mention your past and never make them uncomfortable - you can make up for it. you can earn it.
don't fuck up. they're all testing you, always. they're tolerating you. whatever secret club happened, over a summer somewhere - during some activity you didn't get to attend - everyone else just... figured it out. like they got some kind of award or examination that allowed them to know how-to-be-normal. how to fit. and for the rest of your life, you've been playing catch-up. you've been trying to prove that - haha! you get it! that the joke they're telling, the people they are, the manual they got- yeah, you've totally read it.
if you can just divide yourself in two - the lovable one, and the one that is you - you can do this. you can walk the line. they can laugh and accept you. if you are always-balanced, never burdensome, a delight to have in class, champagne and glittering and never gawky or florescent or god-forbid cringe: you can get away with it.
you stare at your therapist, whom you can make jokes with, and who laughs at your jokes, because you are so fucking good at people-pleasing. you smile at her, and she asks you how you're doing, and you automatically say i'm good, thanks, how are you? while the answer swims somewhere in your little lizard brain:
how long have you been doing this now? mastering the art of your body and mind like you're piloting a puppet. has it worked? what do you mean that all you feel is... just exhausted. pick yourself up, the tightrope has no net. after all, you're cheating, somehow, but nobody seems to know you actually flunked the test. it's working!
aren't you happy yet?
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Danny stared at his nemesis, slowing his walk to a complete stop.
“Don’t,” he pleaded.
The devil incarnate glared back at him, somehow conveying its disdain, disinterest, and malicious intent in one cold stare.
“I swear to Ancients-!”
Mr. Muffins, Jazz’s college cat, meowed loudly and slapped the glass off of the counter.
“No!” Danny dove at the glass, skidding across the tile just in time to catch Jazz’ favorite cup as tipped over and plummeted towards the cold hard floor. “Oh my- you little devil! Mr. Muffins, you little shit!”
Mr. Muffins flicked a tail and sat down calmly as Danny sprung back up to place the cup into the sink.
“You stinky bastard, Jazz would have killed me!”
Danny picked the cat up and held him by the armpits, dangling the cat. Mr. Muffins, no longer simply disdainful, meowed loudly and tried to wiggle away.
“Listen, here, Mr. Muffins- ah! No, you’re not allowed to run away! You have to take responsibility for your actions,” Danny slipped into Ghost Speak as he lectured Mr. Muffins, a rather harried look smushed across his face. He didn’t hear the door open, but he did hear Jazz call out to him.
“Danny, stop bullying Mr. Muffins!”
“Maybe if you parented Mr. Muffins right, he wouldn’t be trying to knock your favorite cup all over the place! If it weren’t for me,” Danny swayed Mr. Muffins, who had become docile as he caught sight of Jazz, like a fluffy and long pendulum. “Your cup would be pieces all over the floor right now!”
Jazz tossed her keys onto the table. “Right… and that definitely didn’t have anything to do with you putting your cup too close to the edge like I told you not to?”
Danny stared at her, mouth gaping in offense. Alright, so it did have to do with that, but it was offensive how fast she came to that conclusion. Danny said as much to Jazz, who smirked and plucked her cat from his grip.
“Have you considered that you’re easily predictable, dork?” Jazz cuddled Mr. Muffins, who was purring up a storm, and walked towards her room.
“Rude! Are you calling me basic?”
“If the shoes fit, Danny-O!” Jazz hollered back. Mr. Muffins mewed as if to punctuate her sentence.
“I hate that cat,” Danny grumbled, grinning fondly. “Now that you’re back, I’m gonna go visit Tim and Tucker! They’re over at Tucker’s for a project!”
“Kay!” Jazz yelled back. “Don’t run into to much trouble and be back before three A.M.!”
“Yes, mother!” Danny put on his shoes and started walking.
——
Danny, along with a handful of dumbstruck civilians, stared down at the unconscious clown. Then, they stared at Danny’s hand in shock and awe. Danny too, stared at his own hand, but in abject betrayal.
“Shit. Jazz is gonna kill me.” He mumbled, pulling out his phone.
“Hey, Tucker. Yeah, sorry, I’m gonna be late.” Danny paused, glancing back down at the clown, up at the still shocked goons, and sighed. “I- uh, knocked out the Joker by accident. Maybe broke his nose.”
Danny heard Tim’s muffled “WHAT?!” and silently concurred because what? He thought villains in Gotham were made of sturdier stuff?!
“Can you tell Jazz? I gotta,” Danny held up the phone, so it could pick up the loud sirens approaching his position. “Deal with the cops.”
Danny pouted as Tucker laughed at him.
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i know that everyone is really stuck on mary ann in this whole deal of the rat grinders just being kids/not deserving to die but one thing that i really got caught on was ruben saying "you were killing my friends, i had to psychic scream" as fig is wailing on him. cuz he's right.
the bad kids were downed several times in this battle, and if they didn't fight back they would have died. cuz that was the goal, to kill them, so the only way for them to survive is to kill the rat grinders right back. and yeah that sucks in the ethical scheme of things if you were hoping for a redemption arc (i kinda was too) but both parties were put in an impossible situation by shitty adults and the only way out was to kill eachother, the bad kids just happen to be better at what they do.
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really what prompted my double boy dad bakugou post was the idea of his older son — who is six, nearing seven — coming out of his room with messy, sleep-mussed hair and wandering into the kitchen on an early morning when katsuki's getting ready for work.
and your youngest is a little terror. spoiled rotten, katsuki thinks, was too babied and that's why he doesn't listen and has temper tantrums in the middle of the floor and is already throwing punches at three. katsuki's old witch of a mother thinks he'll be bulkier than his older son and twice as mean, prone to pinning his brother to the ground until he's declared the greatest.
(katsuki feels both horror and pride, at the very thought.)
it hasn't always been easy for your oldest; becoming a big brother never is. not that katsuki would know what that's like, but he hated to even share a playground with deku, much less share his one and only mommy, so he can only imagine what his own son went through when his brother arrived.
but he's been great about it, which comes as no surprise because his oldest has always been great about everything. gets his little brother out of bed and reminds him of his manners—even as he's getting whacked—gives up his toys just so the baby won't cry. he's too smart for his own good, acting like a big boy now—and it makes katsuki nostalgic in a way that hurts.
there hasn't been a lot of time for just the two of them. not like there used to be.
so when his firstborn comes to stand beside him in the kitchen, to lean his head against his dad's hip and rub at his sleepy eyes—katsuki just ruffles his already messy hair, before giving his ear a little tug.
"should be asleep," he grumbles to him, "sun's not even up yet."
his son only shrugs, yawns hard; despite this, he says, "'m not tired."
katsuki snorts and continues with his routine: finishes his protein shake, gives the kid a sip when he thinks he wants one (he doesn't really, though he tries not to make a face at the taste as he nods, as if he likes it), makes sure he's got all his work shit in his bag for patrol later. and his son is mostly quiet, content to share in the morning just between the two of them after katsuki sits him on the counter.
and then he asks, "can i come to work with you?"
on instinct, katsuki glances at his shut bedroom door, where you're still fast asleep, on the other side, and then down the hallway to where his youngest is sleeping, too.
technically, the kid probably could because you're off work today, and you could come pick him up later before katsuki has to head out, but—
"your brother won't be happy if i take you and not him."
and your oldest is a good big brother. has more patience than katsuki ever did, knows how to share—but on this morning that the two of them are indulging in, he only shrugs.
"well," he sighs—and he sounds so grown up, sounds like you when you're leveling with katsuki. "if he wanted to go then he should have got up, too."
"that why you're awake?" katsuki frowns, though his son only shrugs again. the idea that he's gotten up way too early, at the ass-crack of dawn just to have some extra time with his dad is too—
"yeah," katsuki murmurs, nodding at him to hop off the counter. "get your socks on so we can go."
there won't be anything for him to do in the agency office, besides get an endless amount of cups of water from the dispenser and all the candy in the receptionist's bowl and attention from the older ladies that thinks he's just so stinking cute.
but at least they'll be together, just the two of them. like old times.
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