On the loss of a pet
I had both a cat and a dog while growing up. I wasn’t there when either one of them died; I had moved away and they were no longer as large a part of my life as they once were. I was sad when I heard, but I was able to move on.
Then there was Stan. Stan was a great cat. He would talk (yowl) with you as if having a conversation, play like a kitten, and no matter what room he was in he would come to cuddle in the crook of my left arm every night when I whispered ‘bed time Stan’.
When he got sick I would have done anything for him, though I did not have the money for high-end treatments, we took him to two vets; the second was more optimistic than the first. We followed directions and took him home. For a short time he looked better, was eating normally and was himself.
Throughout the Christmas holidays, his symptoms returned and we had to begin force feeding him liquified food.
One day I got a call after just arriving at work. He wasn’t doing well at all. I rushed home and went to him. He wasn’t himself, he even snapped. I believe he no longer wanted to struggle through feeding. I calmed him down and got him into his carrier. It was a long, quiet drive to the vet.
They ushered us into the sterile room quickly and asked if we wanted to stay with him, which I did. I held him, pet him, said my goodbyes and told him what a good cat he had been. As the vet did what needed to be done, I saw the life fade from him. I kissed his head and promised to remember him always.
Later we decided to get a Christmas ornament to commemorate him: several years later we still haven’t, we just can’t find one special enough.
