H2-Garden’s Living/Ibis-Vol.534

Page 34

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For What It’s Worth

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omething terrible happened last week. My daughter’s cat died. I didn’t know it would hit me so hard, especially since I am allergic to cats, and not necessarily taken with them, but there was something sweet about her, fragile and sensitive, kind and caring. She seemed to know when someone was having a bad day, and would stop by to rub against a leg, or look into your eyes as if to say, don’t worry, it will be better soon. She was seventeen. I say that because that is supposed to make you feel less sad, less unhappy that she was not going to live to see another birthday, but it didn’t ease the pain of seeing her decline, of seeing her staring vacantly into space, of smelling her 34

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food, and turning away, as if the idea of eating was no longer an exciting thing to look forward to. If she could talk, she might have asked to be put to sleep, to hasten the inevitable, but no one wanted to do that, not if she didn’t seem to be in pain. Not if she wasn’t in distress. She was a housecat, but in her last days, she scratched at the door, wanting to be outside. I read somewhere that cats often do leave home and go to die somewhere else, sparing their owners the heartache, and allowing themselves the solitude of their next journey. The decision was made through walls of tears, that the following day, she would be taken to the vet to be relieved of living. But she died as she lived, her

own way, on her own time. She spent her last night lying on my daughter’s chest, until she took her last breath. For someone who doesn’t particularly love cats, I have cried plenty of tears for that sweet girl, who gave so much love to the people who loved her.

For what it’s worth,

I hope I meet her again someday, so I can finally put my allergies aside, and snuggle her face into mine. She was beautiful, and I miss her.

Comments or Suggestions DrMelfi@mediaoms.com

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