Persephone
My cat died.
And my world stopped.
But everyone else’s world kept moving, so no one noticed. Even if they had, I have to wonder how many would’ve actually cared? After all, she was just a cat—an animal, and not even one that most people like. She wasn’t endearingly needy like a dog or fluffy and docile like a bunny rabbit.
To be honest, I’m not sure why bunny rabbits are so high up on the pet-loving list. Sure, they’re cute as all get out, but they’d rather eat your hair than snuggle up beside you in bed or purr on your lap when you’re sick. Hell, even those adorable, little guinea pigs everyone wants to give their kids as a starter pet will eventually mistake your finger for a mid-day snack if you hold it in front of their face long enough.
No, my cat didn’t come every time I called her name. If she came at all, she made sure we both knew she was doing me a favor…and I’d better not forget it. She didn’t do tricks unless it was “hide the fur ball” in my newest pair of suede pumps. She never fetched anything that couldn’t be devoured before could I get to her and yank it out of her mouth. And the only song I ever heard from her were midnight howls to refresh her food dish.
There were endless days of cleaning litter boxes and brushing fur off furniture. Nights of sleep were sacrificed to her schizophrenic mood swings, complete with a meaty whiff of cat breath up my nose if I ever dared to roll over in bed and sleep on my back. And there wasn’t a clean sheet or comforter she hadn’t met that she couldn’t coat in cat fur and kibble crumbs in less than ten minutes flat.
Suffice it to say, owning a cat isn’t always easy. Loving one is even harder. But I’d go through all the ups, downs, and mind-blowing outs a hundred times over if I could have her back.
She didn’t come when I called her, but she came every time I got home. Opening the door meant opening myself up to kitty cuddles and ruthless demands for my attention. She didn’t sing, but her meows and purrs were as melodic and beautiful to me as any opera. And watching her chase a feather on a string or stalk a beam of red light against the wall was more rewarding than bringing me a soggy, saliva-drenched ball could ever be.
When people think of cats, they tend to think of aloof, moody creatures that hide under cars and skulk behind trees to watch life pass by with cold, disinterested eyes. Moody? Okay, I’ll give ‘em that. But little do they know of the sheer goofiness and almost alien stupidity running rampant through those furry nuggets we call a head. They don’t understand the laughs a cat brings just by watching it try to figure out a pet door or seeing it jump at an unexpected piece of string lying in its path. They don’t realize that the unconditional love given each time you come home or wake up to greet the day isn’t just reserved for dogs.
I had seventeen years of constant kitty affection and companionship, given freely without judgment or criticism. All I had to do was make sure the food dish was topped off and the water kept flowing. I had my own living, breathing stuffed animal to hold onto when I cried and a trusted confidant to rant to when I was angry. She put up with me on good days or bad and never asked for more than a little snuggle and the ability to pay for her next meal.
She was my first cat but not my last, and each time one of them says goodbye, my world pauses. Time stops long enough for the tears to flow and another crack to work its way through my heart. When the well finally runs dry and the pain begins to recede, the clock starts ticking again. It sounds a little too loud, and life moves a little too fast, but everything evens out eventually.
And though no one waits for me to catch up, because they never realized I was gone, I at least still have the precious memories of a little, furry soul who walked beside me…and in her eyes, I was the world that never stopped turning.
On a side note, when you find out a friend or family member is grieving the loss of their pet, here are a few things NOT to say:
1. Are you gonna get another one?
No, not right now, because he/she wasn’t a stuffed animal to be replaced like an old toy, even if she looked like one (hey, my baby loved to eat). If your spouse died, would you get remarried tomorrow? If your kid died, would you adopt another one by the end of the week? Seriously, think about that one.
2. Wow, I’ve been worried about losing my own ___ (dog, cat, bird, chinchilla, fill in the blank). I’m so scared.
Since when did my grief become all about you? Can I have a moment to feel sad about losing my little one without being sucked into your emotional wormhole? Would I roll up into your grandfather’s funeral with a list of questions about hospice care for my own? C’mon, now.
3. Cheer up; it was just an animal.
This one is most likely to get you pimp slapped. Full back hand. Don’t. Just…don’t.
The PERFECT thing to say:
I’m so sorry for your loss. *HUG* (Now walk away before the moment is ruined.)
My cat died.
And my world stopped.
But everyone else’s world kept moving, so no one noticed. Even if they had, I have to wonder how many would’ve actually cared? After all, she was just a cat—an animal, and not even one that most people like. She wasn’t endearingly needy like a dog or fluffy and docile like a bunny rabbit.
To be honest, I’m not sure why bunny rabbits are so high up on the pet-loving list. Sure, they’re cute as all get out, but they’d rather eat your hair than snuggle up beside you in bed or purr on your lap when you’re sick. Hell, even those adorable, little guinea pigs everyone wants to give their kids as a starter pet will eventually mistake your finger for a mid-day snack if you hold it in front of their face long enough.
No, my cat didn’t come every time I called her name. If she came at all, she made sure we both knew she was doing me a favor…and I’d better not forget it. She didn’t do tricks unless it was “hide the fur ball” in my newest pair of suede pumps. She never fetched anything that couldn’t be devoured before could I get to her and yank it out of her mouth. And the only song I ever heard from her were midnight howls to refresh her food dish.
There were endless days of cleaning litter boxes and brushing fur off furniture. Nights of sleep were sacrificed to her schizophrenic mood swings, complete with a meaty whiff of cat breath up my nose if I ever dared to roll over in bed and sleep on my back. And there wasn’t a clean sheet or comforter she hadn’t met that she couldn’t coat in cat fur and kibble crumbs in less than ten minutes flat.
Suffice it to say, owning a cat isn’t always easy. Loving one is even harder. But I’d go through all the ups, downs, and mind-blowing outs a hundred times over if I could have her back.
She didn’t come when I called her, but she came every time I got home. Opening the door meant opening myself up to kitty cuddles and ruthless demands for my attention. She didn’t sing, but her meows and purrs were as melodic and beautiful to me as any opera. And watching her chase a feather on a string or stalk a beam of red light against the wall was more rewarding than bringing me a soggy, saliva-drenched ball could ever be.
When people think of cats, they tend to think of aloof, moody creatures that hide under cars and skulk behind trees to watch life pass by with cold, disinterested eyes. Moody? Okay, I’ll give ‘em that. But little do they know of the sheer goofiness and almost alien stupidity running rampant through those furry nuggets we call a head. They don’t understand the laughs a cat brings just by watching it try to figure out a pet door or seeing it jump at an unexpected piece of string lying in its path. They don’t realize that the unconditional love given each time you come home or wake up to greet the day isn’t just reserved for dogs.
I had seventeen years of constant kitty affection and companionship, given freely without judgment or criticism. All I had to do was make sure the food dish was topped off and the water kept flowing. I had my own living, breathing stuffed animal to hold onto when I cried and a trusted confidant to rant to when I was angry. She put up with me on good days or bad and never asked for more than a little snuggle and the ability to pay for her next meal.
She was my first cat but not my last, and each time one of them says goodbye, my world pauses. Time stops long enough for the tears to flow and another crack to work its way through my heart. When the well finally runs dry and the pain begins to recede, the clock starts ticking again. It sounds a little too loud, and life moves a little too fast, but everything evens out eventually.
And though no one waits for me to catch up, because they never realized I was gone, I at least still have the precious memories of a little, furry soul who walked beside me…and in her eyes, I was the world that never stopped turning.
On a side note, when you find out a friend or family member is grieving the loss of their pet, here are a few things NOT to say:
1. Are you gonna get another one?
No, not right now, because he/she wasn’t a stuffed animal to be replaced like an old toy, even if she looked like one (hey, my baby loved to eat). If your spouse died, would you get remarried tomorrow? If your kid died, would you adopt another one by the end of the week? Seriously, think about that one.
2. Wow, I’ve been worried about losing my own ___ (dog, cat, bird, chinchilla, fill in the blank). I’m so scared.
Since when did my grief become all about you? Can I have a moment to feel sad about losing my little one without being sucked into your emotional wormhole? Would I roll up into your grandfather’s funeral with a list of questions about hospice care for my own? C’mon, now.
3. Cheer up; it was just an animal.
This one is most likely to get you pimp slapped. Full back hand. Don’t. Just…don’t.
The PERFECT thing to say:
I’m so sorry for your loss. *HUG* (Now walk away before the moment is ruined.)
My cat died.
And my world stopped.
But everyone else’s world kept moving, so no one noticed. Even if they had, I have to wonder how many would’ve actually cared? After all, she was just a cat—an animal, and not even one that most people like. She wasn’t endearingly needy like a dog or fluffy and docile like a bunny rabbit.
To be honest, I’m not sure why bunny rabbits are so high up on the pet-loving list. Sure, they’re cute as all get out, but they’d rather eat your hair than snuggle up beside you in bed or purr on your lap when you’re sick. Hell, even those adorable, little guinea pigs everyone wants to give their kids as a starter pet will eventually mistake your finger for a mid-day snack if you hold it in front of their face long enough.
No, my cat didn’t come every time I called her name. If she came at all, she made sure we both knew she was doing me a favor…and I’d better not forget it. She didn’t do tricks unless it was “hide the fur ball” in my newest pair of suede pumps. She never fetched anything that couldn’t be devoured before could I get to her and yank it out of her mouth. And the only song I ever heard from her were midnight howls to refresh her food dish.
There were endless days of cleaning litter boxes and brushing fur off furniture. Nights of sleep were sacrificed to her schizophrenic mood swings, complete with a meaty whiff of cat breath up my nose if I ever dared to roll over in bed and sleep on my back. And there wasn’t a clean sheet or comforter she hadn’t met that she couldn’t coat in cat fur and kibble crumbs in less than ten minutes flat.
Suffice it to say, owning a cat isn’t always easy. Loving one is even harder. But I’d go through all the ups, downs, and mind-blowing outs a hundred times over if I could have her back.
She didn’t come when I called her, but she came every time I got home. Opening the door meant opening myself up to kitty cuddles and ruthless demands for my attention. She didn’t sing, but her meows and purrs were as melodic and beautiful to me as any opera. And watching her chase a feather on a string or stalk a beam of red light against the wall was more rewarding than bringing me a soggy, saliva-drenched ball could ever be.
When people think of cats, they tend to think of aloof, moody creatures that hide under cars and skulk behind trees to watch life pass by with cold, disinterested eyes. Moody? Okay, I’ll give ‘em that. But little do they know of the sheer goofiness and almost alien stupidity running rampant through those furry nuggets we call a head. They don’t understand the laughs a cat brings just by watching it try to figure out a pet door or seeing it jump at an unexpected piece of string lying in its path. They don’t realize that the unconditional love given each time you come home or wake up to greet the day isn’t just reserved for dogs.
I had seventeen years of constant kitty affection and companionship, given freely without judgment or criticism. All I had to do was make sure the food dish was topped off and the water kept flowing. I had my own living, breathing stuffed animal to hold onto when I cried and a trusted confidant to rant to when I was angry. She put up with me on good days or bad and never asked for more than a little snuggle and the ability to pay for her next meal.
She was my first cat but not my last, and each time one of them says goodbye, my world pauses. Time stops long enough for the tears to flow and another crack to work its way through my heart. When the well finally runs dry and the pain begins to recede, the clock starts ticking again. It sounds a little too loud, and life moves a little too fast, but everything evens out eventually.
And though no one waits for me to catch up, because they never realized I was gone, I at least still have the precious memories of a little, furry soul who walked beside me…and in her eyes, I was the world that never stopped turning.
On a side note, when you find out a friend or family member is grieving the loss of their pet, here are a few things NOT to say:
1. Are you gonna get another one?
No, not right now, because he/she wasn’t a stuffed animal to be replaced like an old toy, even if she looked like one (hey, my baby loved to eat). If your spouse died, would you get remarried tomorrow? If your kid died, would you adopt another one by the end of the week? Seriously, think about that one.
2. Wow, I’ve been worried about losing my own ___ (dog, cat, bird, chinchilla, fill in the blank). I’m so scared.
Since when did my grief become all about you? Can I have a moment to feel sad about losing my little one without being sucked into your emotional wormhole? Would I roll up into your grandfather’s funeral with a list of questions about hospice care for my own? C’mon, now.
3. Cheer up; it was just an animal.
This one is most likely to get you pimp slapped. Full back hand. Don’t. Just…don’t.
The PERFECT thing to say:
I’m so sorry for your loss. *HUG* (Now walk away before the moment is ruined.)