I had a really lovely time in Miami. The weather was perfect. And we spent plenty of time on the beach and plenty of time drinking, dancing, and laughing. The wedding festivities were a blast and our newly-wedded friends, Chris and Rebecca, were beaming the entire weekend. It was a very loving celebration and I’m so thrilled that I got to be a part of it.

When I got home, I found an email forward from my mom that made me smile. It was one of those typical cheesy forwards – don’t know who wrote it, where it came from, or if any of it’s true or not – but this one struck a chord with me (probably because it mentions dessert several times). Among other things, it said:

Too many people put off something that brings them joy because they…don’t have it on their schedule. I got to thinking one day about all those women on the Titanic who passed up dessert at dinner that fateful night in an effort to cut back… Life has a way of accelerating as we get older. The days get shorter and the list of promises to ourselves get longer. One morning, we awaken, and all we have to show for our lives is a litany of ‘I’m going to,’ ‘I plan on,’ and ‘Someday when things are settled down a bit.’…(So) the other day I stopped the car and bought a triple-decker (ice cream treat). If my car had hit an iceberg on the way home, I would have died happy.

After beginning a quest to find what makes me happiest in life and chronicling the journey here for all of you, and after spending a long weekend with some of my closest friends watching two important people in our lives commit to each other before God and their families, and after witnessing the abundance of joy, laughter, and celebration that love alone can realize, I couldn’t help but smile and agree. Life is to be lived. Dessert is to be eaten. Bliss is to be discovered.

Feeling refreshed, inspired and sunkissed from the beautiful weekend, I was happy to return home late Sunday night to our two cats.

Unfortunately, though, I noticed something disconcerting when we walked in the door. My cat, Floyd, the black one, has recently lost a significant amount of weight, which became even more obvious to us after having been away for four days. Long story short, we found out last night after an emergency visit to the vet that Floyd is probably dying. He is only 5 years old, but he has a massive tumor larger than any of his other organs in the lower half of his body.

I am heartbroken, to say the least. This cat has been my best friend and my favorite companion for the last 5 years. We have seen each other through a lot, Floyd and I. His diagnosis and prognosis are not set in stone yet; I will know more later this afternoon, but the reality is that it does not look good. We will probably have to put him down. I will spare you the “Floyd was…” essay for now, no sense writing a tear-jerker unless and until he actually passes.

After we got home from the vet last night, I had a snack of yogurt and cereal. When I finished it, I put the bowl down, and like he always does, Floyd trotted over to inspect my leftovers. At first I thought, “No! He’s sick! He cannot have human food now. I have to keep him as healthy as possible.” And then I remembered the forward from my mom and I remembered my weekend of Miami wedding happiness and I thought, Live is to be lived. Eat it up, Floyd.

Please send your best vibes to the sweet little man.

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