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Frisky died today.

He's been losing a lot of weight lately. When you pet him, you'd feel every vertebrae and rib. He lost control of his bowels. When he meowed, he sounded like he was in pain. Mom and Dad took him to the vet today. When the vet weighed him, Friskers came in at five pounds. He was ten last time he was there. The vet said he could treat for the lost weight, but couldn't do anything for the loss of bowel control and the diarhea. So, Mom and Dad made the call to put him down.

This is what we expected. It's not a surprise.

I've not cried yet. I'm in my "Now I see how great everything is" form of coping with death. It'll probably hit me in a few days, I'll cry like a little girl, and everything will be done.

Marc's helping me fix Roger. That's good news.

I go to work at 6:30 in the morning. That's bad news. I'm crashing now.

Slainte!

John-Boy