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sumi-sprite · 2 years

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RIP Macchi - FIP Awareness

Yesterday around 4pm, I had to say goodbye to Macchiato "Macchi", my newest cat. She was barely a year old.

Over the past two weeks or so, she had been rapidly losing weight, but sported a potbelly. She was withrdrawn and exhausted, hid in my closet and slept all day, and was very warm to the touch. She only ate and drank periodically. I finally mangaed to get her in the same day I called. I initially thought - hoped - it was perhaps worms or a parasite since she was eating but not gaining weight. I hoped it was something treatable. I was even hoping it would be a tumor. Anything would have been better than FIP. The night prior, I had tried to look up her symptoms, and I ran across FIP numerous times.

No, can't be that, that happens to OTHER people. The odds are so low. It CAN'T be FIP. Famous last words.

The vet was very worried because all of her symptoms lined up. She had a fever of 105 F (normal temps for cats is roughly between 100 and 102 F). The vet said she was extremely sure it's FIP, and offered to run a blood test and test the fluid building up in Macchi's abdomen. There is no direct FIP test, but getting an idea of her hemoglobin levels would give us - give me - a slightly more solid confirmation. My nightmare was confirmed after it was shown that the hemoglobin in her blood were identical to that of the fluid in her abdomen, which is NOT normal.

"FIP is a serious disease caused by a feline coronavirus variant, though not the one that causes COVID-19. The virus will spread through a cat's body causing systemic inflammation. Up to 95% of cats diagnosed with FIP die without treatment."

It is caused by a mutation of the Coronovirus in cats, and generally afflicts kittens or young cats between three weeks to two years of age. Macchi may have been carrying the mutated variety for any length of time, possibly since we adopted her. It's thankfully not contagious after its mutation, so our other cat, Jade, is not at risk. It generally spreads through fecal contact, which, in a multi-cat home is nearly impossible to avoid if the cats share litterboxes.

There is no cure and no treatment.

The vet was tentative in explaining that there is an experimental drug in Europe that has shown incredible results. But here's the catch: It's not legal, it's not approved for commercial use, it's not available in the US, and tests plus administration would cost more than my university semester tuition. There have been people smuggling the drug to the US, and many cats have recovered beautifully - but only when FIP was caught in time.

I could never afford the treatment, and Macchi clearly did not have long to live. She would not make it to treatment after waiting so many weeks to get the drug to her. And besides that, the vet and I both agreed she was too far gone for it to help either way.

I took too long to get her help. I thought she was stressed from our move and being in a less than ideal living space. But even if I got her in sooner, I wouldn't have been able to even afford getting her help.

Wanna know what the odds are of a cat contracting FIP are? According to VCA:

"The incidence of feline infectious peritonitis (FIP) disease is low (only 5 to 10% of infected cats and less than 1% of cats admitted to veterinary hospitals)."

Yep. Roughly 5-10% of cats who caught Corona will experience the mutation, and less than 1% - 1 fucking percent - get to a pet hospital. Most cats develop the immunity to fight FIP and can go on perfectly healthy. Not Macchi though. Macchi was part of that 1%. One. Fucking. Percent.

This disease has NO treatment, NO cure, and it is VERY hard to diagnose. It is almost always 100% fatal in cases where a cat isn't able to fight off the mutated strain. It progresses rapidly and often without warning. Some cats may not display any symptoms for weeks, and then it all comes down full force all at once. My cat was perfectly fine up until two weeks ago, then she lost almost half her body weight, her muscles attrofied, and she lost the strength to fight it off. Her tests showed she was in the beginnings of multi organ failure. Less than two weeks, and she didn't have a snowballs chance in hell.

Please, PLEASE. For the love of god, keep an eye on your young cats and kittens - even your adult and senior cats. If any of them display symptoms, GET THEM TO A VET. There is a "dry" and "wet" variety to FIP. Macchi had the "wet" variety - where her intestines (primarily the stomach, large and small intenstines, etc) were shedding massive amounts of fluid. It can occure in the respiratory systems too. The "dry" variety presents as horrible multi or singular organ inflamation, with common locations being the liver, eyes, and even the brain.

Read up more information HERE

You're probably thinking that this can't happen to your cat. Like I said, Macchi just sadly fell into that 1% fatality. I thought that same thing, and yet here I am. Barely a year after losing my oldest cat, Max, and I had to say goodbye to another cat when she was barely a year old. Everything was fine, she was healthy and her usual, hamburger-faced self. Two weeks changed that. I had only a few minutes to come to terms with the fact that she was suffering, there was nothing I could do, and the most humane thing I could do was let her go. It takes roughly thirty seconds for euthenasia to stop a cat's heart.

Two weeks, a few minutes, thirty seconds. That's all she got.

I miss her, and I hope if just ONE person reads this, and it motivates them in someway to be more watchful of their cat; if I can make just one person aware, then I won't consider her loss meaningless. Maybe it's out of guilt. I don't know and I don't care, I just need people to know how serious this is and how quickly it can take a cat's life.

Please be safe, and keep your cats safe. Again, read up on FIP HERE

I love you and miss you, Macchi.

#FIP #FIP Awareness #feline infectious peritonitis #tw: animal death #tw: euthenasia mention #cats #animal diseases #RIP #animal loss #Shut Up Sumi #raise awareness

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4izawas · 5 months

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Day 1 of asking for more catzawa content

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐅𝐄𝐄𝐃𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔. | 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮-𝐧𝐲𝐚.

𝐂𝐖 ‼️ | hybrids, hybrid au, no quirks, biting, some angst, biting as a fear response, cat hybrid aizawa, blood, slight gore, self loathing, catzawa being emo.

𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: as someone who’s been attacked by a dog, i can guarantee this is actually exactly how it goes dhcbdhbchf that medical emergency i mentioned back in august was oiterally me being attacked by a dog and having my hand uh. annihalated a lil 💀💀.

Honestly, it was all a complete accident, really. One moment you’d been easing into joking with the hybrid you’d gotten three weeks before, and the next he was tearing into your hand and sending blood across the couch and floor.

It was, at most, your fault, and you knew that — you’d touched him before he was ready, and on his blind side as well, so you should have expected it. In your core ( and at the back of your mind ) you knew that it was a freak accident though. You’d nearly slipped off the couch due to your socks not having a grip on the hardwood floor of your living room, and in an effort to save yourself you’d grabbed his shoulder on his blind side — and the rest was a blur of snarling, blood, and the sound of your own screeching. He’d turned in an instant, burying his teeth in your hand and jerking his head violently enough that you could almost swear you’d heard your own flesh tear ( but wasn't that dramatic? surely you couldn’t actually hear such a thing ). You’d lost focus for a second, shrieking at the pain of the torn flesh as well as the stabbing cold air on parts of you it wasn’t supposed to touch, and your shrieks were seemingly what woke Shouta up — at least, it’s what you believed.

Really it was the taste of iron on his tongue. Your screams were nowhere near piercing enough to break through the way he’d blacked out from fear — there was always screaming, after all: in the shelter, in the fight ring his first owners had kept him in, in the two homes he’d had when he was young, and now here — but the taste of blood, your blood, was enough to jolt him out of the blackout, and that’s when your screams reached his ears. He had enough mind to unlock his jaw and stop jerking his head, spitting out your hand and leaping away as you stagger back away from him, your eyes as wide and panicked as his own.

“I — I — I-!” he whimpers, unable to get his words out. No, no, no, no, no! Shouta hisses in his mind, his eyes wide as he stares at the blood running down your hand. Drops were quickly puddling on the floor, building in size until you’d clearly lost an amount that was alarmingly substantial. Shouta wanted to help, but God, what was he supposed to do? This was his fault — fuck, he was going to go back to the shelter. You’d report the bite, he’d get a bite record and be labeled aggressive, and with how slim his chances were before with how old and mangled he was, he’d never be adopted again. He was going to go back, and he was going to die in that place.

“F-Fuck, that’s a lot,” you whisper breathlessly, shaking him out of his shock, and he starts to tremble at how hollow your eyes look. He sees you swallow hard, and he fights the urge to cower. “Fuck, okay. Okay. We’re gonna — stay here, okay? I need to go to the hospital, this is… this is not good.”

You stagger away from his crumpled up form and into the kitchen, not doing your usual check in that you did when he’d occasionally cower as you grab a hand towel to wrap around the gushing wound, and as the door closes behind you, he’s left in a silence permeated only by the scent of your blood. He trembles from his place pressed back into the corner by the entertainment center, but nothing happens, not yet anyway.

Shouta knew what was going to happen. You would be fixed up at the hospital, then return with hybrid control, who would take him back to the shelter in a muzzle that would cut his jaw up again. If you miraculously didn’t demand euthenasia he’d be written up with a bite record and placed in the very back room with a muzzle on at all times, clipped with a padlock all the way around his skull so he couldn’t remove it on his own. At best he’d be sold to another fight ring, at worst he’d die alone in the dark, and all the while he’d know it was his own fault. You were falling, not attacking. Why did he have to be so fucked up?

After another moment of silence Shouta flees to the bedroom you’d given him, worming his way beneath the bed and hiding. He knew he was too old for it, but his remaining eye stung with unshed tears and his body shook slightly from fearful trembling. He didn’t want the shelter, he liked it here — but he’d ruined everything.

It’s four hours before you return, and Shouta’s dozed off in his little hiding spot by then, but he wakes up immediately as the door opens. He can hear someone talking to you at the front of the house, but the strange voice disappears and the door closed immediately after, so he can only assume that it’s whichever neighbor you’d had drive you to the hospital — likely the old, tall, and skinny blond man who adored his garden that you were fond of, he seemed to have a soft spot for you.

A half hour passes. Shouta listens with ears twitching between being pinned back and pressing forward a little as you putter around, and then the safety breaks.

“Shouta? Where are you?” His one eye flashing with panic, Shouta pushes himself further back against the wall the bed was against; you couldn’t send him back if you couldn’t find him. “Shouta?”

He can hear you creeping closer to his room, and his heart pounds ruthlessly in his chest. You’re going to find him and hate him and send him back — God, he can’t go back, he’ll die-

“Are you in here?” you ask through the door, and he doesn’t reply. After a moment, you continue. “I’m assuming you are… Yagi and I brought dinner home on the way back, so if you’re hungry you can come get some.” Ha! Likely. Shouta plays with the claw on his left index finger with his ears pinned back nervously, and after another while you sigh. “You aren’t in trouble, Shouta. And I’m not mad at you, I promise.”

I wish I could believe you.

“I’ll be in the living room if you need me; I’m off work for the next month or so, so it’ll just be us here — I hope that won’t bother you too much.” Your voice is sad, Shouta notes, and his eye stings again in time with his bottom lip trembling a little. What was the real point of putting it all off? Once you were tired of this hide and seek game he’d started you’d just have hybrid control forcibly remove him — maybe it would be easier if he just… accepted it, and went out.

After all, he was hungry…

Swallowing hard, Shouta hauks himself out from the cramped spot under the bed, shaking the dust bunnies off, then carefully pads out, following the faint smell of takeout. He passes by the living room, and he can see you sitting on the couch, but you don’t acknowledge him as he passes by, and — oh.

The blood he’d spilled that had been cast all over the floor was cleaned.

A new surge of guilt fills him. You’d cleaned all traces of his mistake up — or maybe Yagi had? He wasn’t in here for long though… Regardless, he should have been the one to clean it, and he’d left it to you. No wonder he was being sent back to the shelter.

He really was a bad fucking cat hybrid.

He worms his way into the living room, half to eat with your silent permission and half to assess the damage to your arm — but upon entering, you’ve moved, and you’re staring him down. Unlike the last time, his freeze response triggers, and he stands there staring at you while his breathing grows heavier and heavier.

God. You look so tired.

“Are you okay?” you finally ask, breaking the silence, and it stuns him for a moment before he shakes his head to clear it.

“I — what?” he asks, voice slightly gravelly from disuse, and you take on a look of concern.

“Are you okay?” you repeat, your brows furrowing. Shouta shakes his head violently. He doesn’t understand.

“Why are you asking if I’m okay?! I ripped you up!” he snarls, tossing his plate onto the table next to him, and you nod for a moment as he calms himself down after the outburst.

Once he’s calm, you ask, “Did you start the day off intending to?” and it makes him freeze, his brain metaphorically stuttering.

“N-No, of course not—!”

“Then that doesn’t matter,” you say, shrugging. “What does matter is you being okay — I scared you when I grabbed you, and I hope I didn’t accidentally hurt your shoulder too,”

“… You… You didn’t…” Shouta whispers, borderline mystified that you somehow… aren’t angry with him.

You nod with a sigh through the tiniest of smiles as you cradle your bandaged arm in your lap. “That’s a relief.”

The two of you go silent for a moment, and Shouta’s mind races. Somehow you weren’t angry with him, even though he deserved it, and you’d still fed him and hadn’t yelled — but oh, maybe this was a fucked up way of giving him a last meal before he returned, and you’d never been one for raising your voice anyway…

“When will I be going back?” he finally asks, a thick sense of half-grief settling in his chest.

He’d miss it here.

You look confused. “Going back? Where?” you ask, and Shouta sighs; you were really going to make him say it out loud; how humiliating.

“The shelter,” he grits out, his tail tucked and food forgotten as he stares down at his feet.

“Why would you ever go back there?!” you exclaim, sitting up abruptly with a half hidden wince that he doesn’t miss.

“I — You don’t want me anymore?” He can’t help that it comes out as a question — Shouta’s so fucking confused. “I hurt you.”

You shake your head at him, seemingly in disbelief. “On accident! And it was my fault, you told me the day I got you that you don’t like being touched.”

“But I bit—“ he argues, and you interrupt.

“On accident. Right?” you ask firmly, and he nods hesitantly.

“… Yes,” he whispers, “but—“

“Then there was no problem,” You say gently, then tip your head ever so slightly away from him. “Now come watch TV with me — your favorite is on.”

He does nothing but stare at you for a moment, your warmth and gentleness alien to him. Shouta knew humans, he’d been around them since he’d been born, but you? You were so different than every other human he’d come across — you didn’t hit, you didn’t yell, you didn’t threaten. You fed and you clothed and you comforted — and Shouta truthfully did not know what to do with that. All his life he’d been treated like a fighting mutt and like a useless object to possess, and now suddenly he was worth something to a human who treated him well? How was he supposed to easily process this? None of these thoughts, however, stopped him from obediently ( albeit hesitantly ) stalking fully into the livingroom and nestling himself against the far arm of the couch to watch television with you.

If you weren’t going to be rid of him yet, he might as well enjoy the time he had left.

#shou_nya.♡#shouta aizawa x reader #aizawa shouta x reader #boku no hero academia x reader #bnha x reader #my hero academia x reader #mha x reader #tw hybrids

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mylovelies-docx · 6 months

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Sorry, I Love You - Part 11

Ooooof. Sorry for this. But I'm also double sorry for what comes after :)

Plot: You and Bucky have a good thing going - best of friends that also have more than a little chemistry between the sheets. Everything is fine until you develop feelings for the man who doesn't want a relationship. What will happen when Bucky finds out?

C/W: Angst, HYDRA experiments, blood, wounds, disturbing visions, mentions of death.

Word Count: 1,085

Tag List: NOW CLOSED! If you'd like to keep up with this story, please follow my blog and turn on notifications! ❤️ you :)

[Prologue][Part 1][Part 2][Part 3][Part 4][Part 5][Part 6][Part 7][Part 8][Part 9][Part 10]

You stumble inside, gasping for breath.

The wound on your side needs immediate attention but you scramble around the abandoned home instead, blood and gunk oozing down and drip, drip, dripping onto the rotten wooden floors. You riffle through the drawers in the wobbly oak desk and come away with a blunt pencil before moving on to the bookshelves along the walls, dust covering the dry, cracked spines of the novels. You love books so much that you hate to even dog-ear your copies, but you proceed to rip out a few title pages and epigraphs, needing clean space to write.

You know there’s not enough time to both patch yourself up and write down your final words, so you can only hope that you’ll be cognizant enough to get down what you need to.

You clutch the papers and pencil in one hand and begin making your way to the small table and chair set off to the side of the kitchen. Pausing at the entryway, you use the other hand to apply pressure around the arrow jutting from just under your ribcage.

You hiss at the pain, looking down at your blood-covered fingers and noticing rivulets of bright blue that had been hidden within the hollow shaft of the arrow. You had noticed a hollow pop when you snapped the fletching off back in the woods. You were still clear-headed enough at the time to realize that the inside had a coating of blue liquid. There wasn’t enough of it on the ground to fill the shaft, so the rest of it must have already been injected into your body – the arrow must have been triggered to inoculate upon penetration.

You only had a limited amount of time to figure out what was going to happen to you, but knowing how HYDRA operates, you’ve decided to err on the side of caution and assume that death is imminent. Despite working at the facility for the past couple of months, you can’t determine what the blue liquid is. It could be any number of hallucinogens, anticoagulants, euthenasia agents, or something you hadn’t encountered yet.

You had run until you found this house, a good twenty miles from the facility and even further from your pre-determined evac point with Bucky in case shit hit the fan. Your pounding heart had only exacerbated your problems, increasing your blood loss and quickening the circulation of the substance through your bloodstream. You’d grown paranoid on your journey here, flinching at every sound and jumping at figures that seemed to leap at you from behind the trees. Darkness descended upon the forest and the shadows grew spindly fingers that seemed to snatch at your ankles.

You come back to yourself, standing under the archway only a few feet from your destination. You shake your head, clearing away the spiders that had started to spin webs between your eyelashes. Without them in the way, the shadows only grew bolder – whipping out and slashing you to ribbons. The sleeves that had been protecting your arms are torn to shreds, small welts and bloody cuts evident through the holes.

Focusing back on the task at hand, you finish hobbling over to the rusty metal table. You slam the writing materials on the bumpy surface, bending over to pick up the fallen chair. You settle yourself onto the moth-eaten cushion, the wooden posts against your back creaking in protest.

The shadows crawl over your shoulders and perch there, staring down at your hand as you try to write. The paper rotates under the pencil, turning your letters unintelligible. You hadn’t wanted to mar the letter with your blood, but you reluctantly pull the hand staunching the flow of warmth from your side and press it delicately to the top of the page, holding it in place.

As you write, tears pool along your lower lashes. The spiders titter happily, poking at the salty water and causing it to spill over onto your cheeks. The little creatures don’t appear interested in mopping up the liquid on your face with their little hairy bodies, because you see tear stains appear on the paper underneath you as the droplets collect on your chin and rain down.

You need to get this all out before you lose the one train of thought that still remains unscathed. The one topic inside your head that still makes sense, that you can still understand.

Well, one that you used to understand. Bucky had been the one constant in your life until he wasn’t. Until you ruined it. Your conversation that was supposed to fix everything today never happened. So everything left unsaid between you and Bucky will remain that way, unless you get these words down.

You’ll never know what Bucky was going to say, but at least he’ll be able to hear your side.

You can’t help but watch, fascinated, as lights begin to dance over your hand and the letter. Looking up, you can see that the entire table and wall opposite the window next to you also flicker brightly. The shapes dazzle your eyes, reflecting off the tears still gathering, and blind you intermittently as they bounce around.

You close your eyes against the lights wreaking havoc on your pupils, but the images that flash behind your eyelids are even more torturous.

It’s your life before Great Fuck-Up.

Bucky’s smiling face as he laughs at one of your sarcastic comments, his intent eyes and cocky smirk when he knew you were thinking about him, all the silly little moments you spent together that meant so much to you.

But then the images switch and you recognize immediately that you’re now in The After: the cold blue eyes, grimacing mouth, and the loneliness that came along with your confession. The anger and pain in Bucky’s voice when he turned you down, when he said he regretted the time spent with you.

You inhale shakily as a sob tries to make its way up your throat and past your molten lips. Your hands tremble uncontrollably and the pencil slips through your fingers and rolls, rolls, rolls across the neverending table until it disappears over the edge that hadn’t been there seconds ago. There’s nothing to do except look back down at the page.

There’s only a few lines written, but if this is all you can manage then it will just have to be good enough. Knowing that these are your last moments, you’re glad that you could at least get these words off your chest. You hope that these last few words will be a consolation. To Bucky, to Nat, and Steve, and Sam, and Wanda, and, and, and a million other people that you’re going to miss – that will miss you.

Thinking of all the people you’re leaving behind brings into sharp relief just how lonely you are. You’re stuck in a long abandoned home, freezing, bleeding out, and unable to call for help. Even during your time away, you’d never felt this agonizing loneliness. This pain that manifests as a hollow feeling that echoes in your abdomen, as invisible hands grabbing and twisting at your heart.

God. What is Bucky going to do now that you’re not going to be able to complete the mission? You did all you could, downloaded and scrubbed all the data before setting the self-destruct sequence into motion, but was it enough? You don’t remember a big fireball in the sky and quaking earth under your feet as you ran away, but maybe you were just too out of it to notice.

You can’t help but feel guilty that Petre and his family got wrapped up in the situation, that their only way to move forward and help Sasha was to join that horrible, awful institution. But honestly, death is probably the best outcome for Sasha after everything HYDRA has done to her, whatever they’ve made her body dependent on.

Sharp pain flares from your chest and ricochets behind your ribs, forcing a cry from your lips. The pain continues to grow and spread, encroaching on your organs and traveling through your limbs - but all the sudden it’s gone and a crawling, slithering, pulsing numbness takes its place. Your bones and muscles and ligaments turn to jelly and you slide sideways out of the chair, landing hard on the rotten floor but not feeling it.

The pain is gone, but your emotions remain. You can’t help but remember all the time you spent training, spent getting to know the team, spent making life-long friendships. You just didn’t realize that life-long would be so short.

The lights on the wall grow more intense, more numerous, and you can hear howling, baying, snarling monsters sprinting to your final resting place. You can only hope that you’ll be gone by the time they sink their vicious fangs and terrible claws into your soft and squishy flesh.

You thought that you would take any company over the aching loneliness you feel, but you realize that maybe being alone isn’t the worst thing in the end. At least no one has to see you cry, and shiver, and shake, and watch as your chest refuses to rise and your heart refuses to pump and the light leaves your eyes.

Yeah, no one should see that. You want them to remember you how you were: happy sometimes, a pain in the ass a lot of times, and – hopefully – as a good friend, a good teammate, a good person. You know there’s so many things you could have done differently, but does it even matter now?

You can see the clothes piled on your floor back in New York, the cereal bowl left on your nightstand from a midnight snack, all the makeup scattered across your counter from girls’ night out. The pillow slumped against the door and tear stains soaking your bed sheets at the house you share with Bucky only a handful of miles away.

You see the half-finished books on your shelf, the unsung songs on your playlists, the stories you never told and never heard, and the conversations left unfinished, the words left unsaid.

You wish that your last thoughts before you die were happy, that you could watch your life back over and not regret so much, that you could see your family and friends and Bucky one last time.

But that isn’t in the cards for you. The monsters from outside have finally reached the house, slamming open the door and shattering what’s left of the windows. Shadows converge on you from every angle, crowding your eyes and compressing your lungs more and more and more until there’s no room left to expand. Until you can’t take in any air. Gasping, gasping, gasping. Until the room fades out and so does your heartbeat.

Part 12

Tag list: @jackiehollanderr @rabbitrabbit12321 @12345sebby @blackwood-bodecker-housewife @lauraashley93 @themorningsunshine @happinessinthebeing @nash-dara @calwitch @stany0url0calwh0res111 @pono-pura-vida @learisa @introverbatim @kentokaze @marvelogic @kaz11283 @terry2227

#sorry i love you #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes fic

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deadsprout · 1 year

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Just in case anyone was wondering if the Fireflies would have found a cure: absolutely NOT.

Ignoring the game canon (where they mention that they have tried and failed and murdered dozens of immune kids), and only using text from the show we know for a fact that medicine has NOT advanced since 2003.

To begin with, when Frank is dying of cancer and wants to do euthenasia, Bill says they "might find a cure." Frank jokingly says that there was no cure before the fall, and he doubts there are any new doctors walking around with functional MRIs. This tells us we did not develop any new cures for incural diseases. In 2003 we did NOT have a cure for this fungal infection, and we don't even have one now in our 2023, let alone THEIR 2023.

In Kansas City Karen is holding a doctor hostage in exchange for information about Henry. He tries leveraging the fact that he's a doctor in an attempt to keep himself alive. It doesn't work. Doctors are NOT valued in this world.

Marlene mentions that when crossing the country they lost half their men, while Joel stayed alive the whole time. The Fireflies are barely equiped to travel, let alone distribute a life saving medicine. They are terrorists willing to experiment on children. Even if they found a cure, they would not give it away for free. It would become leverage in a power struggle, and Joel knows this.

That's just what I can think of off the top of my head. The Fireflies would have murdered Ellie and it would have been for nothing.

#tlou #the last of us #tlou spoilers #the last of us spoilers #musings #joel miller #ellie williams #pedro pascal #bella ramsey

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theunpleasantjournal · 8 months

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I dread the day that someone says to me "you have so much to live for." Because I really don't.

I feel as if this world was not designed for people like me.

Money seems like such a nebulous and pointless concept to me. I understand it logically - a universal bartering currency. But I don't care for it. I am not motivated by it. People seem obsessed with it, to my eyes. It must be important to them, the way it makes some people commit unspeakable acts against their fellow human. Some consider it a lifeline. To most it's little more than a necessity, a lifeline, something that you are forced to earn to give away to someone far richer.

What pitiful manner of existence is living paycheque to paycheque, spending the majority of your waking moments slaving away to further someone else's means to earn enough of a keep to pay for the privilege of continuing to exist? To live another day to do the same mediocre work and have barely a moment to even remember what you wanted to live for.

Aspirations and dreams are foreign to me too. Some people live to work - nothing fulfills them more than climbing the corporate ladder. Some seek a specific job, a specific paycheque, specific qualifications... But I can't muster the energy to care. I don't want to work. I don't want to work just to continue living this miserable unfulfilling existence. I don't want to give my heart and soul to serve a company whose owner doesn't even know my name.

Some people live for experiences, hobbies or stories. But to me, those are things just to occupy my time. They don't grant me enough enjoyment to inspire willingness to put up with the rest of the shit life brings. The joy I feel from finishing a game or a book is fleeting and the memories fade all too swiftly. Not to mention all the time that goes into finding these stories, earning the money, the right to engage with them, and sorting through all the creations barely worth the paper they're written on.

Then some live for others. Friends and family. But I see no reason to cast my lot with those, either... I get on with so few people, and those I do 'befriend' in some manner of the word grow sick of me swiftly and move on, leaving gaping wounds in their wake. Interpersonal relationships seem to hurt me more than they help me. I feel as if I spend so much time trying to fit in, trying to be a person worthy of others' time, trying to mend burned bridges and failing that.. all of my issues seem to stem from other people. If I could be content with being alone, I think I'd be much happier.

I feel as if I have nothing to live for. Nothing to hope for. The future will simply be more of the same and likely worse. Some look forward to weddings, but I don't care for large gatherings. Some look forward to having children, but children are nothing but loud, disorganised and overstimulating to me. Some look forward to holidays, but... days off to me are just days spent dreading the days on.

I hate to parrot edgy rhetoric, but the way I see it, I didn't consent to being brought into this world. I do not belong here. This world is too busy, too regimented, too... everything. And I am too broken.

It feels like anyone who tries to convince me that life is worth living is simply trying to make me suffer. Misery loves company, and they have chosen mine because I am so, so miserable.

I wish euthenasia were legal. Because I have so much pent up shame about the act of actively ending my life that prohibits me from considering it too deeply, but I know I do not want to live in a world where I do not belong, where I do not have anything to stive for.

"Just living is enough! Just making it through another day is enough!" Why? Just so the greedy capitalist overlords can milk more money from my weary soul?

Telling me to find happiness in living feels like the creulest thing you could possibly say.

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ao3feed-brucewayne · 1 year

Text

Call me Amity

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/mhsb1oQ

by Raven201

Jasmine Fenton continues her hunt for former GIW agents in Gotham. While in the city, she attends a charity gala to have a conversation with Bruce Wayne.

Words: 2878, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Series: Part 6 of Call me Amity

Fandoms: Danny Phantom, DCU

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: Gen

Characters: Jazz Fenton, Bruce Wayne

Additional Tags: Crossover, jazz goes by amity now, tim drake and cassandra cain are present but not central, mentioned euthenasia

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/mhsb1oQ

#IFTTT #bruce wayne #batman #the dark knight #the cape crusader #gotham #dc universe #ao3 #ao3feed

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theramseyloft · 4 years

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Escher’s final update

Escher was put to sleep at south Pointe Animal Hospital this past Friday.

Because of their small size, the hospital has had to employ a curb side only service model, so I was expecting to have to hand my little girl out the car window and wait for her sad little body to be brought back to me, so that I could perform her necropsy at home.

when I opened the window, instead of reaching to take her from me, Dr. Mayer simply stood at the prescribed 6 foot distance and asked “I assume you’d like to be with her?”

When I asked if it was ok for us to, she solemnly informed me that the surgical suite was being prepped for us, and we could bring her once we were ready.

Highland would have put her to sleep for free, but I so firmly prefer the way South Pointe handles euthanasia that I am happy to financially support them.

On the surgical table sat the little 5 gallon glass tank with a fluffy towel folded at the bottom.

It’s fitted with a glass plane for a lid that has two holes in it for the anesthetic tubes.

Escher was nestled onto the towel and covered with a fleece baby blanket to keep her relaxed and comfortable while she drifted off to sleep.

Dr. Mayer and her staff took the time to make sure she was soundly asleep before lifting her out, and covered her head with a mask made for small animals both to remove the risk of a return to consciousness and to allow us to hold her.

The entire process took nearly an hour.

All to make absolutely certain that she would never feel the needle, or any other pain, in her last moments.

I cannot express the comfort that their compassion brought me in those terrible moments that twisted my gut with doubt.

The night before this, her jaw had started to lock and any attempt to take a step threw her into a 15-40 second fit of disoriented flailing.

Her pain was so obvious that I lamented having brought her home instead of ending her suffering at the end of her appointment.

But that morning, as she sat still, she looked so much like any curious little bird that I was in agony wondering if I was acting too early.

If I was about to just kill her just for having balance issues...

I agonized over whether or not I had made the right decision until I actually sat down to perform the necropsy.

I’ll spare you all the literally gory details.

Cancer was confirmed.

Peritoneal cancer is insanely rare.

The Peritoneum consists of the lining of the abdominal wall and the web of connective tissue suspending the abdominal organs.

Along with physically holding up the abdominal organs, it produces the fluid that supports them and allows for comfortable movement with in the abdominal cavity.

Escher’s Peritoneum was so obscenely thickened that its overgrowth was both engulfing and constricting her organs.

The overproduction of fluid filled her abdominal cavity like a water balloon, putting so much pressure on her chest cavity that her heart and liver were being deprived of oxygen.

This is why I perform necropsies on every bird that dies or needs to be put to sleep.

If the condition turns out to have been treatable, and the decision to euthanize was the wrong one, I will recognize those symptoms if I see them again, and know at least one treatment to try that might save that individual.

And in a situation like Escher’s, it’s confirmed beyond any shadow of doubt that what I did was free her from terrible pain and ease what would have been an inevitable, hideous death into drifting off to sleep and just not waking back up.

Peritoneal cancer is unspeakably rare.

I could only find human specific studies on it and like two on rodents.

From what we could find, it’s largely genetic, and effects individuals with ovaries the vast majority of the time.

Symptoms are nearly identical to ovarian cancer, and the survival rate in humans is 47%, with intensive chemotherapy, IF it’s caught early enough.

When it shows up in the even more infinitesimally rare cases involving those born with out ovaries, it spreads there from some place else.

It doesn’t start there.

Since both Ferdi and Astrid have had fatal health issues crop up in the hens of their lines, and this type of cancer has such a strong genetic component, we will be reshuffling the retirement priorities a bit.

Birds with both Ferdi and Astrid’s blood in them will be most strongly favored for retirement.

Followed by those with high percentages of Astrid’s blood

Then those with high percentages of Ferdi’s.

We are already making arrangements for new blood to add to our program in their place.

And we have let clients with related birds know what we found as soon as we found it, and how it could potentially effect their birds or their progeny.

I still want Old German Owls and Old Dutch Capuchine blood incorporated into the Ami project.

I’ve found unrelated Old German Owls, and am on the waiting list for offspring.

Now I just need to find an unrelated fit line of ODC.

It’s been a hellish, agonizingly painful week...

Hopefully, tomorrow will bring some much needed rest.

#tw: animal death #tw: death mention #TW: graphic content #tw: graphic descriptions #veterinary care #palliative care #tw: euthenasia

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arsenicarose · 7 years

Photo

My mom just contacted me for the first time in literal months.

She told me my dog, Hannah, is dying, and they might have to put her down as early as tomorrow.

She told me this while I was still at work.

The worst part is, she told me she doesn’t even care about Hannah. She said TO MY FACE that she only took care of Hannah out of obligation. But she wouldn’t let me keep her with me when I moved out.

Please enjoy these photos of my wonderful dog whom I love.

At least then someone might.

#hannah #dog #dog death #dog health #dog sick #death #death mention #euthenasia #euthanize #personal blah #me #my post

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peacewise08 · 3 years

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Euthenasia

AeroPlane Jelly. Sung by Winston Churchill holding a cigar and two fingers held up for peaceful Victory circa ww2, whilst riding a bicycle backwards into the wind.

Sing, smile, dance and romance - rofl/smirk. So let us this time do a wonderful thing that feels quite brilliant and one that heaps and heaps of people experience again and again. Feeding an infant with that small plastic spoon that’s nice and colourful and sometimes flies like an aeroplane into the open hangermouth. We’ve all done that, well most of us have, well some of us cannot do the following. Some can’t notice where the babies eyes are going, some don’t notice that their monotone voice elicits inattention from some babies eyes, some don’t recognise that waving that spoon around draws attention… and that’s all just fine, we can work with that – if we spot it ourselves. Some parents are so attuned to their children they seem to be able to read their mind, intentions and actions from a distance, perhaps even from a friend retelling a tale. Yeh that sounds like Childname, s/he does that all the time. So we ramp that amazing parent child relationship sense, we ramp it right on up, as best I can...Your holding the child in your arms gently rocking the child who weighs ___ kg. Child is wrapped in ___ colour because it felt right to me. I know child can hear my heart beating, s/he has settled, oops, yep there’s a little gas, yep I can smell that one, that baby food always makes s/he smell like that. Child is maybe thirty minutes from needing a nappy change. It’s 0835 and Child is hungry but eyes are on Dads tv until I wave the spoon closer to Childs eyes, yes that fluke worked, I’ll keep doing that. Spoon after spoon, show me you want it, awe sister so pretty, open mouth about nipple sized open, chin protruding a touch, eyes on spoon, aeroplane into the hanger. Ok, I can do this, I can help keep this Child alive. So that connection for some people is heart felt and instinctive and for others it is tiring and rational and yet others, neonatal depressive, and worse or something else maybe better! So here I am saying my deepest values, and along the way being a bit whimsical too of course, and what’s that deepest value that comes through – I’m playing with Us. Honestly that’s all, I’m just playing with you all right now in ours heads. David, don’t tell them that, that’s a bad move. Dng dng, I’m thankful you mention keeping things quiet about u know. Goliath, QUIET ABOUT WHAT? Buffy, woof. Wang replies, wtf?

Martha pipes in, is he at it again Jose? Yep, off with the faeries, chatting to himself again, really should abide by anonymity if s/he’s going to waffle on about that. Ok ok, Everyone let’s be fully insincere. Right from the heart – this is Elizabeth Wang reporting from inside Zaphod Beeblebronx’s mind… edit – please correct ZB’s surname he is the President of the Galaxy you know! Douglas Adams signing off to Pink Floyd’s echoes, echoes, echo… Well echo was my first dog that dad didn’t have gently put to sleep whilst mum and I watched Godzilla after smelling popcorn on the way into the cinema somewhere on planet Earth. I remember the movie, all massive on the screen. I vaguely recall we in the middle and sitting there and hearing all the roars of Godzilla and its foes and thinking Cindy and Muffy are going to be dead, that was the deal. I got to pick and watch a movie, any movie I wanted if Dad could take our dogs to the vet, because… my parents had locked the two beautiful dogs in the small cold hard tiled laundry of Dad’s newly purchased and built house. For too long and the dogs had done too much damage to the door, the walls, the other door, and the laundry sink… just trying to MOVE, if only just a little bit more. Sometime during Godzilla I stood up and told Mum I didn’t want to watch the movie any more and could we please phone to save the dogs. We walked outside to the counter and Mum talked the attendant into phoning someone who told us the deed was already done. Love Cindy and Muffy who I harmed as a small child by making a choice to watch Godzilla… Many Many years later Dad apologised to me for that. I am so very sorry I didn’t know then what I know now, because I would’ve gently placed my foot betwixt Dads' legs when I was only 4 or 5 years old, if only I’d known what was to come. If I’d known I would've screamed at Mum, MAKE IT STOP, TAKE ME TO CINDY AND MUFFY, DONT LET THEM DO IT! I would’ve used my heart as a canon ball and fired right between Dad’s eyes and showed him that lightly restrained, gently large roomed, survival needs met, connection and peace. Amen.

#cindy #muffy #dad #mum #me #godzilla #aeroplane jelly #winston churchill #ww2 #euthenasia #zaphod beeblebronx #douglas adams #apology #family

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answrs · 3 years

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(animal death mention, bad prank. not putting it in tags or on the server or even mentioning what type of server it was bc I'm apparently too sensitive don't wanna target anyone)

April fool's prank on the discord was "communist takeover" where the mee6 not yelled at anyone that used singular person pronouns ("I" "Me" "My" ect)

was cute the first but in gen, but then it screamed at someone in the vent channel who has just lost their pet (was then turned off), and then a few hours later "there's this injured animal that needs euthenasia but I feel severely distressed about taking a life of a still breathing creature" "HA HA HA U SAID BAD WORD LOL" after every. single. post. about how difficult it is and how to do CD

and when I point it out being seriously tasteless and hella uncomfortable afterwards?

"nobody asked"

THEY SHOULDN'T HAVE TO ASK

I didn't participate because I literally had to euth a pet fish the night prior and the bot was yelling at everyone sharing their stories. it's not even that the mods didn't see, the owner of the server was responding in them thread! but I'm too sensitive and should have just told them even though I didn't even know there was an option to turn it off for specific areas or that you could block the bot and honestly I'm really not doing well right now.

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2h32 · 6 years

Text

▻ i have refrained from showing content that i have deemed “nsfl”. these include a myriad of videos, phenomena that has become well-known in internet circles i have frequented, etc. ▻ if you really want to see these things, you may ask me off anon for links. i am not entirely against sharing them - they are public record. however, i will not put them on a list for mass consumption. ▻ i have also decided not to include videos and phenomena that have been popular in recent history. ▻ keep your volume lowered when watching videos. i have not gone through and individually tagged content that may require volume warnings. ▻ the reason that the lists are bulleted and then numbered is because tumblr does not support breaks in lists when formatting. please tolerate this.

possibly in michigan. an older video, recently reuploaded from a third party site to youtube. an art project.

nasajim108. a man who claims to be a dying nasa scientist. archive goes back 8+ years.

mrkatyia. if you know the history of this channel, you will understand why it is on this list. i debated whether or not to i should add it, and settled on doing so for two reasons: one, it is a public channel and she is fully aware that she has an audience. two, i thought i might coerce one of you into leaving her a kind message on one of her videos. she may appreciate it. you will likely not find anything too interesting here unless you dig a bit further back.

septic 5 awesome. tw for unsanitary. a reupload of an older youtube video. it’s exactly what you think it is.

femcop. a channel run by someone obsessed with videos of female cops being killed.

angel. i honestly, genuinely don’t know. i just think it’s neat. an art project, ostensibly.

full heavens gate initiation tapes. two full hours of the original heavens gate initiation tapes.

big bird. this channel that uploaded four videos and nothing else. consists solely of a big bird costume in places it should not be. likely a college student’s art project, but if anything it contains interesting and somewhat unsettling imagery.

thenewstoryteller. a man who creates stories with thomas the tank engine figurines. the only really questionable thing here is the difference in his voice and its transition from early to later videos. it is my belief, as well as the belief of the people who have shown me this channel, that this man had a stroke somewhere along the way. as it is with mrkatyia, i urge you to be kind to this user. send him a nice message.

reborn babies. this is a large genre of videos. this is just one of them. there is a sizeable community of people who purchase dolls meant to look like living children and treat them as they would a living child. though it may seem strange to outsiders such as you and i, these people fully acknowledge that it is solely - albeit strange - roleplay. please be kind and remember that this may also be a coping method for those with fertility issues.

the church of euthenasia. tw for somewhat tasteless humor regarding 9/11, the q slur, suicide.

chip-chan. tw for unreality, though only barely.

blowfly girl. extreme tw for unsanitary and sexual nsfw. i cannot stress this enough. yes, this is real. i have not been able to find the original blog that she posted on - it has seemingly been removed. there is a part two not included in this photoset. if possible, i will find it and post an update.

teds caving page. a classic, and perhaps the first real internet horror story. an art project.

the evocation.

stinkymeat. a favorite of mine. an older website chronicling the adventures of a man leaving meat to rot in public places.

exit mundi. a list of (nearly) all the possible ways humanity will cease to exist.

sentimentalcorp. not to be confused with the recent arg, worldcorp. an art project featuring bizarre music videos.

jodi.org.

timecube. a classic i’m sure you’ve heard of. govt lying. timecube = true.

yyyyyyy.info

the book of immanuel david isaiah. a deluded manifesto written by the man believed to have kidnapped elizabeth smart in 2001.

last words. general tw. the last words of pilots before going down. audio.

an honorable mention: nevada-tan. not a webpage nor a video, but rather a very old and somewhat tasteless meme. i suggest researching it for yourself.

#here it is #maybe ill update it later #ill rb if i do #i tried to be as respectful as possible as some of this subject matter is. heavy

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ao3feed-brucewayne · 1 year

Text

Call me Amity

by Raven201

Jasmine Fenton continues her hunt for former GIW agents in Gotham. While in the city, she attends a charity gala to have a conversation with Bruce Wayne.

Words: 2878, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Series: Part 6 of Call me Amity

Fandoms: Danny Phantom, DCU

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: Gen

Characters: Jazz Fenton, Bruce Wayne

Additional Tags: Crossover, jazz goes by amity now, tim drake and cassandra cain are present but not central, mentioned euthenasia

source https://archiveofourown.org/works/47043487

#IFTTT #bruce wayne #batman #the dark knight #the cape crusader #gotham #dc universe #ao3 #ao3feed

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is-the-primate-vid-cute · 2 years

Note

I don’t know if it’s been asked/mentioned about before. What could you share with us about the Silver Springs, Florida rhesus macaques?

I know the basic history and the infections in the group (would it be called a colony?), but as a Florida resident who was taught it as a kid by nature/animal loving parents I’m always a little surprised and sad that it’s not very well known both outside and inside the state. It was a horrible thing done by greedy people for the sake of tourism (so I was told) and now there’s issues with the population continuing to grow.

Just sort of wanted to ask for your two cents on these guys and bring some attention it I guess. I appreciate all your work here and your posts are always fantastically educational and show you care a lot about keeping both primates and people safe!

I had actually never heard of the Silver Springs macaque issues until I looked it up to answer this ask. So lets get into it!

(photo and info courtesy of National Geographic)

Rhesus macaques are very cute and charming, and for this reason they were introduced to Silver Springs State Park in 1938. 6 macaques were procured from a primate dealer in New York and brought to a small island in the park to add tourist appeal, but because these macaques are strong swimmers they were able to spread throughout the park. Another six were added, and by 1980 the monkey population had boomed into the hundreds all throughout the park. Since the mid eighties there have been many efforts to reduce the macaque population through sterilization, as despite them being an invasive species, locals are so fond of them that they do not support any population limiting plans that involve killing the monkeys.

Currently, the population is expanding at approximately 11% per year. Though it is lovely that people are so fond of these macaques, it can have negative implications for both macaques and humans as about 30% of the macaque population carries herpes B, which is likely to kill people who contract it. Though the chance of transmission is small, it is made greater the more close contact there is between monkeys and people which is an issue as people love feeding macaques. Not only is feeding them an issue because of the risk of disease transmission, but macaques are not very friendly. If they feel comfortable taking food from people, they are emboldened to interact with people in more violent ways. We’ve posted before on this blog about how you should never feed wildlife, especially macaques, and it is illegal to feel the Silver Springs macaques but people still do it.

So basically: we have an invasive species that is majorly prolific and very popular, that poses a risk in a few different ways. It’s a complex issue because while sterilizing them would be a great solution (sterilizing half the adult population regularly could reduce numbers to a third), this is complex to carry out and involves time, money, and resources. Very interesting to look at! Hopefully the population can be reduced safely and humanely.

#silver springs macaques #macaques #rhesus macaque #rhesus #monkeys #inquiring minds want to know #mod J #euthenasia mention

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