An update on the Waffles situation via this update from The Editors:

Thanks for all the kind responses for Waffles. He seems to be out of the woods physically, aside from the broken jaw – no serious organ damage, he’s breathing on his own, his reflexes are pretty good, he’s not in pain, etc. The question is how much brain damage he has, and if he will ever really regain consciousness. It’s only been about 28 hours since he was attacked, and he has made significant progress, but his response to stimulus is very limited. He’ll either get all better in the next couple days, or he won’t. It’s out of our hands.

Sincere thanks to everyone who left a comment for Waffles. I’ve lost pets before, and I know it’s hard, but it was never so sudden, or so wrong. I’m surprised at how much this hurts.

Waffles appreciates the extremely generous offers to pay for his vet bills, but every veterinarian in town takes one look at Waffles and insists on working pro bono. That’s how it works when you are the Most Charming Cat Ever.

Only time will tell.  That update was from Wednesday and no new information is available, but I’ll pass along whatever comes up.  By the way, there’s another kitten photo of Waffles at the bottom of that post.

Now, another pet…

You may not remember this post about Chris Clarke’s dog Zeke.  Let me remind you what he wrote as Zeke’s advanced age and worsening condition finally began looming darkly over their home:

I have been his world forever. My life stretches on past his for perhaps twice his allotted time or more, our time together the center of it. I am immortal to him and yet I find no comfort in it, nor in the prospect of a tidier house next year, an extra hour in the mornings. Were my lifespan flesh I would give him half. His expectant stare has always worked on me. I never managed to teach him not to beg.

If you never read that post as I suggested, read it now so you’ll comprehend what follows.  I’ll wait.

Now that you’re up to speed, let’s start with what Chris describes as “Hell, encapsulated in one sentence“.  Look at the picture, and then read the one sentence below it.

And then an update:

The vet has not given up. He will be coming home tonight rehydrated, the poppy’s blessed gift in his veins, in a bottle of pills for later.

No betrayed look as he was led into the vet’s back room. We’d sat on the floor together, the doctor talking about humps and getting past them, and yet the final subject came up, was spoken at last. She can refer us to someone who will come to the house, when it is time.

All the walks delayed, all the impatient shoves when he blocked the hall, all the times I averted my eyes from his as I slipped out the front door, sometimes for days. He would not sleep for the first two days I was gone. He would wait for me by the front window. Opportunities lost.

In that way only Chris Clarke seems capable of, he then explains why Zeke is “just a dog”:

Just a dog, but he is my dog and far more important, I am his. He has had a good long life and I do not care that he has had a good long life. I am not ready. He is just a dog in a world of more important things, and I do not care. I would trade my sight to clear his eyes, my legs to make his whole. I would trade thirty years of my life for one more painless year for him, one more chance to run along a trail eyes shining.

And to finish, Chris keeps us posted:

He is home. He is unsteady on his feet, but he is walking a little. The morphine may be helping. He goes back to the vet tomorrow. We will see.

This afternoon when I could take the indoor loneliness no longer, the phantom dog beneath the desk tapping my shins once too often, my eyes burning, I walked down the creek to the bay.

Read the rest of it to see how nature can help a wee bit in these cases by showing us there is still wonder and beauty in the least of things.