As it turns out, having multiple sclerosis doesn’t exempt any of us from the relentlessness of life.

When it feels like you’re stuck in a fugue state of one bad thing after another, you begin to wish you could throw a flag and appeal to the Universe to throw you a damn bone already. But there are no such flags and the Universe, while supposedly benevolent and all that rot, can be a real bitch when it comes to making it pour when it rains. It makes you start to think that all of life is a test and you just might be failing. It makes you think life is unfair.

It makes you forget to be grateful and there is no greater sin. None.

I lost another of my feline family this past week and while I want to downplay it and go all high-brow with the circle of life and play Elton John songs to inspire me and help me find the beauty in a long life well lived, I am quite simply not feeling that way even a little bit.

When I lost my cat Roger in May, the entire dynamic of the house changed. All of the sudden my little vocal, social pot-stirrer was gone and the house went quiet. Ivan, my littlest kitty, kind of stepped up into Roger’s void. He talked more. He snuggled up to me and spent every bedtime performing his nighttime ritual of circling my head and head butting my hands and forehead for pets, squawking the whole time. It was like he didn’t want me to be lonely. He was making sure I was OK. (OK…he was a cat and he probably had none of these sentient intentions at all but it felt like he did and that is what matters to me right now).

I knew there was something wrong with him but I was led to believe it was a minor issue. A chronically clogged anal gland (gross) that I needed to keep an eye on. He was happy, playful, eating and taking care of himself like a perfectly healthy little kitty. Exactly like Roger, he was completely fine until he wasn’t. I saw him having diarrhea on the living room floor. I somehow caught him and put him in a carrier without falling on my face. Adrenalin is an amazing thing. I can barely stand up without falling over in my post-Prednisone haze but I managed to catch this little guy and shove him into a carrier.

I called my nephew Alex in a panic. He came immediately and took Ivan to the emergency vet. I was so sure Ivan was going to be OK, I didn’t even try to go along. I’ve been in bad shape. I knew the stress of the trip wouldn’t be good for my ridiculous dysfunctional body.

The steroids from last week were giving me the usual backlash. I could barely walk again. The Lemtrada leg cramps were back with a vengeance. Those steroids basically got me one day in the office and that was it. I’m pissed at Prednisone. That feels both completely reasonable and completely irrational all at the same time. I was in no shape to go prancing off in the cold night to the emergency vet. It was OK, though. Alex would handle it. He texted me from the vet and told me the docs thought Ivan would be OK. His vitals were really good. He seemed perfectly healthy with the exception of the clogged anal gland. They planned to clean him up and send him home with antibiotics. It was good I caught him and got him in but he was going to be fine.

Until they went to clean up his behind and do a rectal exam. They realized he didn’t have a clogged anal gland at all. He had a giant tumor and that was what I was seeing extending outside of his body. They called me to explain that even if I chose to operate on him, he would likely never be able to go to the bathroom without difficulty and keep himself clean. He would likely be in terrible pain. He wouldn’t last long like that. Ivan was 15 years old. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I had already walked away from the idea that anything was seriously wrong with him. This wasn’t happening. But it was.

After a few more telephone conversations with the vet, we decided what had to be done. I wanted to drive out there to be with Ivan when he went to sleep. I wasn’t strong enough to be there when Roger went to sleep and I was already at the hospital that time. Roger was my first pet death. I wasn’t even remotely prepared for how it would hit me. Knowing now what I didn’t know then, I didn’t think I could bear to let Ivan go without seeing him one more time. Alex solved that problem for me by driving 25 minutes back to my house to get me and drive me back to the emergency vet.

I held Ivan while he purred so loud he sounded like a warm, tiny little lawn mower in my arms. I kissed him and talked to him and held him tight while his little heart stopped. I didn’t want to let him go when he was gone. He looked so peaceful. Like he was asleep. Like he was a tiny little black sleeping kitten. I wanted to hold him forever.

Going from four cats to three was strange. Going from three cats to two is like some kind of seismic shift. The two who are left, Fred and Owen, are kinda quiet. They keep to themselves a bit more. In the last few days since Ivan is gone, though, they are both glued to my side. I know they’re just cats! But they know somehow. They know I’m not OK. It probably sounds crazy but I think they miss Ivan too.

Since Thursday night when all of this went down, I’ve been in the midst of another family crisis, completely unrelated. Again, the Universe works in mysterious ways. I needed to be there for someone else. I needed to focus on something really important that wasn’t about me but was about someone I love more than I love even myself. Physically, this wasn’t ideal. Stress isn’t my body’s friend. We all know that by now. I’ve been basically up all night for three days, catching up on sleep during the day. I haven’t really seen much daylight since Thursday night. It feels strange. Three days in pajamas. Three days of waking up when the sun is going down.

Maybe the Universe knows what she’s doing after all. I needed to focus on something that wasn’t my failing body or my poor sweet kitty. I needed to be useful for my family, so I was.

The crisis has since passed and things should be getting back to normal. I may actually sleep tonight while it’s dark and wake up while the sun is up tomorrow. I’m not sure how I’m going to feel tomorrow mostly because my post-Prednisone, post-Lemtrada body is being an asshole again but I would kind of love to go outside. Breathe some air out there. Feel some cold. See some snow. I know as soon as I type those words that it might be highly unlikely that I’m going to be in any shape to do those things tomorrow but maybe I will. And if I’m not, maybe later in the week.

I’m getting better at this patience thing even as I resist it with every fiber of my being.

I miss Ivan. I miss my working body. I miss outside (kind of). I miss not having a new fucking life lesson to learn every time I turn around. I miss spontaneous smiles and taking a working body for granted. I miss loving winter! I’m not sure how I started going down this rabbit hole of things I miss but here I am.

How can a little 8-pound fur ball have such an incredible impact on a grown woman’s human life? I honestly have no idea but I miss him to the very core of my being. I hope he’s cozy wherever he is now.