Our dear Kit-Kat rested on Wednesday evening at the kitty ER after an unexpectedly long bout of throwing up. She was alive when we started driving; 10 minutes later she likely had already died as we hurried up to the counter. She was only 10 years old. We buried her on Thursday in a back yard that has 4 other kitty graves (that I know of).
No longer will I fear the squish of cold cat barf (or worse warm cat barf) between my toes.
No longer will my wife’s nice furniture be shredded, not uniformly, but only in certain places.
No longer will I walk around with pinholes in all of my T-shirts from sharp claws.
No longer will I have the occasional parallel streaks of blood on my arm.
No longer will I wonder if an accidentally unguarded dinner plate has been nibbled on.
No longer will I enjoy the acrid aroma of cat pee around the house.
No longer will I shovel clumps of litter and poop into bags, to be hauled out with the weekly trash.
No longer will I patch the clawed up sections of our walls and door trim.
No longer will I worry about whether the glass of water I left out contains cat spit.
No more will I have to use a fur roller to remove cat fur from dark clothing.
No longer will I hear the meows and scrabbling at the bedroom door when she wants to share my food.
But none of that matters. Life is sad without feline activity in the home!
More than anything, yesterday afternoon when I had some Taco Bell food, I wanted to do as I always have and let generous dollops of tacos and burritos accidentally fall on a small plate that was then placed where she could find it. But that food would have remained uneaten.
Rest well, little one!
My crew sends quiet purrs your way 