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Yesterday, I sent Mojo to the vet. She went in for some tests (general wellness and senior cat check), to stay overnight and then go under for dental cleaning today. Given that I can’t take her in myself, my mother and Michele brought her in (yes, it takes two adults. One of Mojo’s nicknames is The Psycho Cat from Hell. She doesn’t like to be forced to do anything). The look on her face when they put her in the carrier, the instant escape attempt(s), the crashing up against the sides and top of the carrier once locked in. And then, as she was carried out the door, the crying started. From both of us.

I freely admit to being an absolute sap when it comes to the wee beastie, but still… I have no idea how parents do it. How do you find the strength to do something that has to be done, even though it frightens and hurts your kids? It just broke my heart. And I didn’t even give birth to her.

There is one thing I plan to do while she’s gone, though. Normally, I drive carefully inside my apartment and do a constant cat scan to make sure I don’t accidentally smush her with the chair. But while she’s gone…

I’m cranking the music and dancing in the living room.