I measure every grief I meet

Quote, Sweet Isabella Blogspot:

Last week I caught myself blathering on to my best friend about the differences among veterinary insulins. Truly blathering. Somehow, realizing how I sounded and how little she must care about the details of dealing with my cat’s disease, I cut myself off before she hung up on me.

I don’t want to be that person. I don’t want to be the freaky cat lady who only talks about her kitties and their ailments. A funny story now and then, OK. A lecture on 100% beef vs beef/pork PZI, not OK.

Save me from myself.

The mark of a gifted writer is the ability to make any subject fascinating, so forget feline diabetes; the blogosphere just lost a truly great presence.

I’ll get by. If only I would have told her what a hero she was, since Angelbait’s diabetes has opened up a new social circle wherein I don’t fit, and whenever it seems there’s no way I can relate to mental midgets I think of her blog as evidence that there is room for grown-ups in these quarters. Snark, acumen, irony, disdain, dangerous empathy and brainy, self-deprecating introspection does place certain social demands on groups that prefer fraternal baby talk, but I know excellence is permissible because Nancy is that, and she is loved.

A shimmering blog has closed while the writer mourns the loss of her pet and her fans mourn the loss of her voice, wandering through her archives in awe.

Yes, it would be a mistake to assume the subject matter bears no relevance to people not living with feline diabetes. That’s not quite what Nancy was on about. See here to know that. Here, too. And above all, here.