I really don't know how to start this, so I'll just begin. On the 10th of May, I had to make the decision to put my sweet little Zippy cat down. He was a constant in my life for 19 years. That's a long time, I know...but you never really feel like it's enough time. He had been suffering from chronic renal failure for who knows how long, really, and it just seemed to spiral downward in the last few weeks of his life. He grew steadily sicker and weaker. We tempted him with his favorite treats, carried him to the litterbox when he could no longer make it himself, and spent his last days loving him as much as possible. He went peacefully with the help of a wonderful, caring vet staff. I was able to hold him the entire time, so the last thing he felt was being held and petted.
It's odd...grieving for a pet. I feel as if I can't really talk about it too much for fear of being the "crazy cat lady". I keep wanting to just get up and dust myself off, but grief doesn't work like that. It's sticky and messy.
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