Parker is doing well. He does not appear to be in pain and, as he sleeps in the same position for hours, I know he is not in strong discomfort. He plays a little and still wants to go outside. And he is still eating.
He has re-discovered Fancy Feast. After all the exotic varieties and expensive brands in which I have tried to interest him, he is, for the moment, eating Fancy Feast. Yesterday, he ate almost a tin of it for dinner, and then I cut up roasted chicken for his bed-time snack, and he consumed all the meat of a drumstick, and then some. And it all stayed down.
I watched Parker eat, hungrily, eagerly. When he cleaned his bowl, he wanted more. He wanted nothing at snack-time (eight o’clock) but before bed, he was peckish again, and had his favourite, chicken. Afterward, he stretched, and I stroked his still smooth and soft fur. We played: I pretended to step on him and he wrestled and kicked my foot. Finally, he groomed himself. He didn’t throw up last night or early this morning. Yesterday was a good day.
And yesterday was why good days with Parker are splendid days. He felt good. He filled his tummy and I know that he felt good. One day, he won’t. One day, he will not eat, and not eat ever again. He will feel pain, and no position in which he lies will bring him comfort. One day, the cancer that fills his body will win.
But not yesterday. Yesterday, Parker won. And yesterday cannot be erased. It is indelible, and long after he has left me, yesterday, and days like it, will remain. Yesterday was a good day. Yesterday was splendid.