…the ceiling caves in.

Okay it hasn’t caved in, but the roof is leaking, no one can find where, and I’m pretty stressed.

Over a week now of managing this. I’m not sleeping because I want to be ready in case someone needs to come in, and I’m barely able to focus on the stuff I have to focus on (why does work need my brain?).

And it’s on the heels of Libby dying on Nov 28.

Rodney being diagnosed with cancer Oct 31.

And oh yeah after an emergency on Oct 10 I learned stress can now kill Shawn.

You know what’s stressful? Having his mom not sleeping because the ceiling is leaking water that could make him and the other cats sick, scared that we’ll be homeless (again) if renovations are needed, and welcoming in strangers who make noises and require him to be confined to a room (I am grateful everyone is on top of investigating! very much so, I’m super lucky. but I would rather this not be happening, I’m so worried for him).

Anyway, I am still working on stuff from November because this is the Bad Place, apparently.

I got through a revision pass on Waverly 5, finally. It was not the in-depth pass I intended it to be, but my concentration is shot, so I spent this one just drafting up the missing scenes and rearranging things (about another 30K words), and then I’m hoping first thing in January to do a more in depth pass adding some flesh and prettying it up.

The intent was to spend two weeks over Christmas going over the Livi files to redo the paperbacks with the new covers, as well as the Demons books (I haven’t revealed those new covers yet but the rebrand is done)–just skimming, fixing things, reformatting, etc, and then also getting them loaded to BookVault so I can sell direct on Payhip. Now I have absolutely no idea, I might be freelancing the rest of the month and (or, if I get stuff done this week) crashing entirely. (I also need about two weeks to redo all my freelance site stuff but I just don’t have it in me right now, and writing is where most of my income comes from.)

That is to say, though, if you want Livi or Demons books with the current covers for the styles matching, now’s the time to grab them. I still have copies here I can probably sell later, but no guarantees what I’ll have in stock. The new versions will be the same trim size but they’ll have the rebranded look.

Assuming I get the Demons books done, I’ll post a reveal here when they’re changed over and live. As that may not be before the end of the year–and this might be the last thing I post in 2025–my year-end wrap up on projects.

It doesn’t feel like a lot but those are the new-ish things–it doesn’t count the audiobooks and the large-print editions, although both took a lot of extra work. It doesn’t cover the weeks I spent on Waverly 4 revisions that added so much more to the word count, and I didn’t include all the different Patreon shorts that posted (some of the written ones are being held until next year, some might not post at all or wait for Waverly special editions).

There could be a miracle, I could magically finish Waverly 8, These Haunted Woods, because I did significant work on that this year…but I’ve got at least 70K to write there and I can’t see that happening with the state of things.

But next year’s serial is drafted, at least, which represented a pretty huge thing I’m proud of doing (even if I have so much work ahead of me).

If we’re busy having a nervous breakdown the rest of the year, happy holidays to you and yours. I hope no one’s ceiling collapses.

ETA: it SEEMS to be fixed, I’m really grateful everyone kept investigating, and I’m hoping this means no stress for Shawn for a while.

Rodney is doing extremely well–like shockingly so, a second vet visit confirming the prednisolone has all but shrunk the tumour and in terms of clinical symptoms, he has none. He’s like a kitten again, picking up where he left off in the summer when he got quieter and started losing weight. We’re still doing palliative care, of course, but he at least we have more than the few weeks I expected and he’s having the time of his life.

Yesterday we said goodbye to Libby, though.

I don’t want to talk about it, but I also don’t want to pretend she didn’t matter, so here we are. It can also serve as a proof of life post as I don’t want to talk to people for a while. (And I beg of you: comments are turned off everywhere, please take that as a sign not to send me rainbow bridges or hugs. And I’m not seeking reassurances but will, in fact, feel compelled to argue if you try–if you don’t live in my home and are not my vet, there is nothing you can say that I will believe.)

This is about a dozen times more complicated than anything else I’ve dealt with. I don’t want to get into rehashing her health problems here or what we’ve been doing for over seven years. It doesn’t matter anymore. She was a happy-ish cat despite everything she went through, patient and trusting, tolerate of all the poking and prodding. She loved napping in the sunshine and playing with Shawn and snuggling beside me and she had her favourite catnip toys.

She wasn’t supposed to be mine–it was temporary until I could get her chronic health issues fixed, and then temporary until someone was willing to take her into a single-cat household. None of that materialized so she we were left with an imperfect solution to a mess of a problem, out of sight and out of mind to everyone except me who lived with her.

She deserved better than she got. She deserved a more dedicated human where she was the sole focus. She deserved to live without discomfort in a healthy body. But she’s not an isolated case; she’s a reminder for me about all the cats I never helped, the kittens I sent to vetted new homes without knowing what became of them, the colony cats and kittens who suffered, the fates I never knew when I had to be the one to say no because we weren’t a shelter and couldn’t take in more. The failure to get more people involved and taking responsibility, to get them to give more of themselves to save more lives. The failure to make any kind of lasting change. The cat problem was made by humans and continues to be worsened by humans, and I spent all those years trying to make things better and instead ended up constantly angry–bursting with rage now if I so much as hear about cats and kittens needing help, that compassionate side of me damaged so much that it’s never repaired itself, just a chasm where I used to feel things.

I didn’t change anything. I didn’t fix anything. I just broke myself.

Shawn got to go to the appointment to say goodbye, in the hopes he understands what happened instead of me leaving with his friend and coming home alone, as has happened previously. He’s also on medication for his anxiety so he doesn’t get sick again from the stress of the loss.

We tried. She was a good cat. I just keep telling her over and over that I’m sorry I didn’t do better. I’m sorry she spent half her time isolated to keep food separate, that she didn’t get to have fun treats, that I constantly gave her pills and needles and baths. I’m sorry I didn’t find her a good home. I’m sorry she had so many days where she didn’t feel good. I’m sorry I didn’t know whether it was the right time to go or if she was ready yet. I’m sorry I can’t honour her by adopting another hot mess of a cat because I’m stretched too thin here and I can’t have more pets.

Sometimes it’s a long life well-lived, sometimes there’s comfort to be found in knowing you did a good thing.

But this is just…emptiness, nothing but grief and the guilt of failure. And having to live with it.

I’m sorry, Libby.

Of course two weeks after this, an abdominal mass was felt in Rodney Ballsnomore on Monday, explaining his recent weight loss and changes.

He’s fourteen and a half, and he gets pretty stressed at the vet, and there is basically no good news when it comes to this kind of thing, especially since by touch the mass shares characteristics with malignant tumours, so I’ve opted not to put him through invasive diagnostics. So we don’t know precisely what it’s growing on, just that it’s there and it’s going to kill him soon.

If there’s a good thing here, it’s that it’s still earlier than it’s usually found–he still wants to eat a bit, he’s still engaging with the household cats and me. So we know his time is limited, even without a firm estimate, and can enjoy what days are left. I’ve switched to palliative care for a few weeks, with some meds that will reduce inflammation and make him comfortable, and feeding him whatever he wants to eat. Currently his refined palate is enjoying Catit Creamy Salmon by the bucketload, salmon Temptations, Friskies pate, and the occasional handful of the usual hairball control food.

He’s enjoying the sun (although it’s rained the past two days) and while he doesn’t want to play, he’s still inquisitive and alert. I’ve got warm spots for him all over the apartment, wherever he wants to nap, but he spends most of his time next to me.

Beyond being heartbroken that he’s dying and crying all the time, the hardest thing is being hyperaware of every single second and feeling like I should do something and reconciling that with knowing the best thing for everyone is to keep up with routines and be normal so I don’t stress out Rodney himself or Shawn’s bladder with my nonsense. And I have to work as I’ll be racking up more bills, though my focus is still a struggle because every ten minutes my brain screams, “YOUR CAT IS DYING, WHY ARE YOU DOING LITERALLY ANYTHING ELSE BUT STARING AT HIM.“

The month started off pretty good here–I was able to keep offline, I was getting through a lot of work and some apartment projects. Shawn derailed that and just as I thought I was getting back to it, with so much planned to be done this week so I could start some writing projects after midnight (unofficial NaNoWriMo), now I’m faced with my special, silly little cat dying.

I’m exhausted, perpetually, but there’s nothing else to be done but be grateful for what we have and endure.

I’m going to try a day reset and take a shower, get a cup of decaf, and get this project off to a client that I should’ve had done over a week ago, maybe get the final Demon Fall chapters cleaned up to post, and be able to start fresh at midnight with something new, even knowing I will probably associate the writing of it with my cat dying.

Hug your pets.