I thought I was done with cancer. I fought it and won. I hope I did

Last weekend I got a new series of tesst for my sweet cat Simon, and he has non-treatable lung cancer.
He is ten years old. We hoped he could live that much more. Now we are on cat hospice.
There are tears and survivors guilt. How is it that I could have recovered and he cannot?
He’s still with us. He is weak but still loves us and can play.
I am thinking of what love means from this small cat.
Pretty much the same thing as love means from anyone.

he’s glad to see me. He wants to be where I am. He gives a chirpy purr meow when I pet him unexpectantly. He has been our kitty for so long, it breaks my heart to think that he won’t be able to greet me this way much longer.

So we watch him, and check in on him often. He needs help to junp down from his usual places.

He doesn’t know that he shouldn’t. But if he does, his breath heaves and his heart races.

So we race to catch him before he jumps, and take him to his next favorite space.
I can remember all the ways that this cat made me feel good. Right now, this means that I race after him to make sure that he feels good.
It’s not about me getting from him.
It’s broken my heart open, and the whole family is cooperating to help him be as comfortable as he can be for however much time he has left.
We are considerate of one another far more than before.
Love is bigger than I can say.
I think I know. And then I realize I do not.

Archeologists found some ancient bones showing that humans have taken care of disables children, feeing and caring for them so that they could grow.
Why?
Love is strong. Love is more than what it gives. If I were strong only for myself, I could get lazy. Good enough is good enough.
But when a little helpless one needs me, I will make the effort. Scientist want to call that an advantage. Maybe it is.
Or maybe the practice of love is higher than human advantage. I don’t know.
I know we are all going to love our Simon cat as long as we can and even after.