shwa6

I buried my cat the other day. I got him when I was eighteen. He mostly just got on my nerves but he was part of the family. I didn't mistreat or neglect him, but I am not what people would call a "cat person"

When he started getting sick last month, I figured the end was near and decided to let nature run its course rather than take an old furball to the vet. When his breathing started getting rough a couple days ago, we decided to have him euthanized, but we had to wait a few days for an appointment.

I knew when I came home from work that day that he wasn't going to make it through the night. I made him a little bed by mine and pet him to give him some comfort. when he went into his death throes, I stroked him and shut his eyes. I was unprepared forr the intense grief that overcame me.

I guess that when you lose a part of your family, (even if it is an annoying furball that shit in your leather jacket, or coughed up furballs on your bed) it forces you to look back on your life.

I got the little guy when I was a young punk stud, free as a bird. Somehow I managed to keep him around(minus a couple extended vacations, when he stayed with friends) up to my present life as a suburban statistic.

So long cat