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May. 24th, 2012 09:56 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
fireunOnce upon a time, when I was Very Young, my mother took us to one of the local animal shelters and had us pick out a kitten. We picked out a little female tiger cat and gave her that very common, but beloved, name of 'Misty' (I may have been reading a certain series of books involving a certain famous horse at the time). Misty slept in my bed until I went away to college. After that betrayal of her trust, she took to hissing at me when I came home to visit, just to make sure I understood she was miffed, before letting me cuddle her. She played fetch like a dog- and never tired of the game. She was quite the dedicated mouser, and as a result killed many Christmas trees as she scaled them in pursuit of invaders of the rodent persuasion.
She grew old, as cats do. Getting thin and cranky, deciding the rug by the stove was the best place to sleep. She begged for treats whenever someone walked by the designated treat drawer, knowing we were helpless to deny her anything in her dotage. We carried her to and fro, knowing full well she was spry enough to jump up on the table to steal butter after we had gone to bed.
She grew old, as cats do, and quiet. Her squeaky meow became wispy and her hisses almost absentminded. And when her body finally started to fail, we did what pet families dread and took her for the quicker, quiet death she had earned as we could not bear to watch her labored breathing, the way she struggled to stand but could not get her legs to obey her like they should. My sister carried her to the vet, held her the entire time, and carried her home to be buried in the garden my mother made for the sister we lost.
"Now Teresa has a cat," she said to me. And I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. So I did both.
She grew old, as cats do. Getting thin and cranky, deciding the rug by the stove was the best place to sleep. She begged for treats whenever someone walked by the designated treat drawer, knowing we were helpless to deny her anything in her dotage. We carried her to and fro, knowing full well she was spry enough to jump up on the table to steal butter after we had gone to bed.
She grew old, as cats do, and quiet. Her squeaky meow became wispy and her hisses almost absentminded. And when her body finally started to fail, we did what pet families dread and took her for the quicker, quiet death she had earned as we could not bear to watch her labored breathing, the way she struggled to stand but could not get her legs to obey her like they should. My sister carried her to the vet, held her the entire time, and carried her home to be buried in the garden my mother made for the sister we lost.
"Now Teresa has a cat," she said to me. And I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. So I did both.
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Date: 2012-05-25 02:08 am (UTC)I am sorry for your loss.
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Date: 2012-05-25 03:28 am (UTC)Shelly and Nox send you snuggles and purrs.
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Date: 2012-05-25 05:03 am (UTC)So many hugs to you. So so so many.
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Date: 2012-05-25 06:36 am (UTC)*snuggles* I'm sorry you lost her, hon. And I know that decision and it's not an easy one. I'm glad Melissa stayed with her. I stayed with Jake until his sedative took effect and he fell asleep with his head against my leg.
I'll call you tomorrow. Love you, Taco.
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Date: 2012-05-25 12:07 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-05-25 06:33 pm (UTC)