It’s been a rough few weeks. Last Wednesday night, we had to say goodbye to Haggis, our darling eight-month old kitten. He let us know he was ready to go…and we had our vet come to the house. He had 24/7 of attention and love from Dave and me from the moment we found out he had FIP; I took him to work with me a couple of days. He faded out slowly, but even at the end he still purred when he woke up and saw the two of us with him.
His sister, Taz, curled up with him every hour or so. If she wasn’t grooming him, she was coiled around him in a protective semi-circle. I spent a lot of time holding the two of them.
We got Haggis’s ashes back from the vet’s this morning. They came in a little polished pine box, complete with a lock and two little keys. We put the box in a vampire kitty container from one of Cost Plus’s Halloween collections, courtesy of my brother and sister-in-law. It was one of my favorite Christmas presents this year and perfect as a resting place for Haggis, who had overlong canines. I need to take a picture of the vampire kitty and post it. Just not yet
Grieving is a long process. You can’t rush it. I’m okay with that. I’m not okay with people telling me ‘get over it; it’s only a cat, fer crissake.’ Tell that to Taz, who periodically wanders around the house looking for her brother and meowing. If someone doesn’t relate to those of us who consider our animal companions (that’s the PC term for ‘pets’, in case you were wondering) part of our families, the best thing they can do (both for the sake of the bereaved and their own health) is keep their opinion to themselves. Seriously.
I hope this is the last post I’ll write for quite a while about grief and loss. I attended Left Coast Crime in Denver last weekend, am gearing up at a leisurely pace for a book signing tour in May with my new pal and fellow writer Jess Lourey, and have a lot of positive things happening in my life.
But damn, I miss that cat.