Goodbye Kitty

This morning we said goodbye to kitty. Henry, Maya and I packed up our things and left the house after kissing him one last time and pulling the away the burs from his fur that he had no energy to remove himself. It was Ben who stayed behind to pack that kitty into a box and transport him to the vet who would inject him with magic sleep serum and send him to a nice safe place that doesn't know the meaning of the word pain.

Death, intended or not leaves an empty feeling behind it. One minute there's a breathing, living being with personality and feelings and the next minute it's simply a shell. That kitty had a pretty luxury filled twelve years before some mysterious kitty illness left him devoid of energy and spark. He spent his first four or five years being dressed up and carted around in a dolls pram by Maya. He did it with dignity and pride. He never once lashed out at her when he felt she'd pushed the boundaries of their friendship too far. He simply got up and walked away bonnet and all and found a hiding place to recover. Just when he thought he'd be able to live out his retirement years in relative peace along came Henry. That big bushy tail was an attraction to that small crawling creature and it was often grabbed and pulled with the type of yank only a baby can manage. Still that kitty didn't lash out. He just sighed and lay down until boredom lured Henry away to something else.

When I returned home this afternoon there was no kitty to nudge my leg until I fed him, no kitty to slump down at our feet as we watched TV and no kitty to swear at for leaving furballs all over my black pants.

We already miss that kitty and it's going to be weird to wake up tomorrow and not see him sitting at the door waiting to be let in for breakfast.