A Star Trek TNG thought...

You know how Guinan is the classic "Magical Negro" stereotype? I have the urge to write a drabble where Picard comes to her for help and she's like, "Picard, solve your own damned problems for once, what am I, your friggin' Agony Aunt meets Mystic Meg?"

Has someone done that already? Cause I'd read it, save it, love it, adore it.

Not the best night.

Have to take Melma to the vet again tomorrow. Things are looking rather bad, in that she has blood and clots coming from her rectum. I'm terrified I did something to make that happen, like I didn't squeeze her poop out enough or that I squeezed too hard. I tend to blame myself for Melma's bad health a lot, I guess because if I do that, it's not something out of my control. I've turned into a bit of a control freak since acquiring PTSD.

I've been in huge amounts of pain the past two days. My pelvis really fucking hates me. The worst thing is I need to sleep so badly, but I can't, not with this pain. I have to get up early tomorrow to clean myself up and shit.

No, I'll be up all night with pain problems. I will most likely be up at 3am, taking more pain killers. The anxiety over Melma won't help.

I don't know why I'm so worked up. It's been clear in the last few weeks that she's on her way out, that I've been merely keeping her comfortable. I just - I'll miss her so much. I had more than my fair share of time with her - 20 years. She's been such comfort and brought me so much joy over the years. I love how she purrs too loud because she's deaf. I love how she loves her food. I love how soft her fur is. Like a rabbit. I love her beautiful green eyes. I love the delicate musicality of her meow. I love how much of a lady she's always been. I love her pure, sweet heart. It breaks my heart to see her so old, so dirty. I see the fighting spirit in her eyes and I can't bear to go against her wishes.

I just don't know if I can take care of her anymore. I don't know if I have the strength. I feel like I'm letting her down, you know? But she has a constant stream of poop, running and not-so-runny, from her bottom. I can't wash her every day, it'll give her pneumonia in this cold weather. I wipe her down and brush her best I can. She urinates on herself quite a lot. She still loves her food, and she can still make it around pretty good for a twenty year old cat.

I just hate this decision, you know? I'm so emotionally tired of being the one responsible for her. Everyone decided I was the cat person, you know? If it were Rogue or Lenny, I'd understand as they're my kitties. Melma is the family cat, she's her own self and her own woman. I don't want to let her down.

She deserves a beautiful end. I wish she could have that. I wonder if she knows how much I love her, how much I would do for her, and how much I'll miss her when she's gone?

It'll be like losing family. I know that sounds daft, because she's just a cat, isn't she? Twenty years. Twenty years of my life that cat has been there. I've fought for her life countless times. I've looked into her eyes and seen her say with them, "Help me, please?"

I don't know if I have the strength for this one last thing. To see the life slowly drain from her - I'm scared she'll put up a fight. I'm so scared of those last moments. I wonder, who am I to choose when her end is? Who am I to make this choice? I'm not God. I'm not anyone special.

I just don't want to see her in pain. I hate being in this situation, I really do.

My poor, dear, sweet Melma. I'm so sorry I've let you down.