This past Saturday was three weeks since Little passed away. Right now I dread and hate Saturdays.
I still have moments, sometimes hours, or even whole days, where I just cry. Moments, hours, and even days where I miss him so much it hurts my heart.
It is amazing to me, though it shouldn't be, that there are people in the world that simply do not understand the relationship a person can have with their fur-baby. That for some, like me, they are not "pets" or "companions" or even "animals". They are our babies. Little was my baby. Little was my best-fur-friend.
Even now, as I remember his poor limp body that morning, I a fighting back tears. He was gone, and I knew it, but I still wrapped him gently in his blanket, carried him lovingly in my arms to the car, made sure he was comfortable on the front seat next to me, and then folded him one last time in my arms as we walked into the emergency vet's office.
A couple of weeks ago I attended an all-day conference and ran into someone I used to work with - someone I had not seen in almost a year - and she offered her condolences. I was stunned. At the time I couldn't figure out how she even knew but then surmised that maybe she'd read my post on Facebook. The next day I saw someone else I don't know particularly well and she too offered her condolences. They both told me how sorry they were and how much they loved their fur-babies. How devastated they had been when they passed or how devastated they would if something happened. Yep, you guessed it - I cried.
My observation through this experience is that folks either get it completely or not at all. I get "I'm so sorry about your fur-baby" or "sorry your cat died". When I hear Little referred to as merely a "cat" it makes the fur on the back of my neck stand up. Not going to lie. A cat? Are you f**king serious? Little wasn't a "cat". Little was everything.
My sister, Susan, told me in the immediate days following Little's death that she had never seen me interact and be so attached to a fur-baby as I was with Little. And I know she's right. I didn't have enough time with Little. He was only four and a half years old. Not nearly enough time. And I think that's part of why it's been so hard. He was so young. We were supposed to have at least another ten years or so. Right? It wasn't enough time.
I'm still struggling. I'm still crying. I'm still talking to Little every day.
I love you Little. My beautiful b. Mama misses you.
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