And he may no longer be able to prowl the store on the hunt for his own birthday present, but at least he was able to commandeer his own majestic birthday chariot. (What you can’t see is that he is sitting on his very own fleece pillow.)
This is the guy who had a dog fight eight years ago that left him permanently crippled, and has had delicate health ever since. He nearly died a year and a half ago of an abscess in his neck. (I won’t share the photos of that experience today. You’re welcome.) He’s deaf and mostly blind and has a crooked spine, stopped being able to jump onto the furniture two years ago, stopped trying to jump on the furniture a year ago, had to finally give up pizza crusts and biscuit treats because he was starting to find them too hard to chew, and recently started to need night lights because he cries now when he’s left alone in the dark.
All of his time these days is divided between sleeping on the heated bed in front of the tv (this has now become known as Kishu’s Habitat and has been fitted with all of the luxuries his age and status demand,) and rage-patrolling the perimeter of the house/ yard. He seems to think he’ll find Jiro hidden in the weeds or lurking on the other side of a door somewhere, if he keeps looking, and he’s damn-well determined to get in one last tussle. I suspect that the day he finally accepts there’s no Jiro to hate any longer will be the day he loses the rage that has to be the only thing keeping him alive.
Rage on, you old bastard. Rage another day.