You were a scruffy, dandruff-ridden cat, and you never seemed to do a whole lot, but you had personality, and that’s what counts, after all. I was so happy to finally get a kitten when I was five years old, and I did everything to please you – fixed you special treats from a cat cookbook, showered you with gifts, and even helped you explore the outside world (for about ten minutes). You were abused as a kitten, and would have probably died if we hadn’t picked you out of the dozens of cats and taken you home from the shelter. I worried about you constantly throughout the years, where you were, if you were caught outside, if you were happy. I loved you more than anything else
in the whole world. I still do.
Our dog became ill ten years later (she’s still around), and we thought that you would outlive her – that you would live forever. You seemed healthy and content, despite disliking the dog and becoming a bit more mellow. We thought you were fine, and then you stopped eating. We took you to the vet, and learned that your liver had failed, and that the only way to keep you functioning would be to have you constantly at the vet’s, rehydrating. We saw how miserable you had become. You still enjoyed being petted, but you had found a den for yourself under a desk and barely moved. You were in pain, and uncomfortable, and we knew that the right thing to do would be to end your suffering.
I cried for hours. I cried later that night, the next morning, and all the way to the vet’s the next day. I’ll never forget stroking your head in that tiny room as the vet sent you to kitty heaven. Soon, you had slipped away. Less than a week earlier, I had no idea that you were even sick. It was too much for me to handle. You were gone forever. I sobbed and sobbed, running my fingers over your lifeless body. My beautiful little kitten, my cuddly cat, was gone. I had never felt any feeling like this. Misery, grief, and loss were alien to me until that moment.
We left the room after
I had calmed down and
opened the door to the parking lot.
“It’s snowing,” my dad remarked.
“No,” I replied, smiling for the first time. “It’s Mims’s dandruff
falling from heaven.”
And then I started to cry again, but they were happy tears, because I knew that you would always be with me.
Especially when it snows.
I will always, always love and remember you,
| Mims |
| Charlotte T. |