A few weeks ago, I had to say goodbye to my old (er than dirt) kitty, Scooter. She reached age 22 on July 4. For many years, I knew she had suffered from kidney failure. The veterinarian had added thyroid and heart to the mix as well.
Scoo was a good kitty. Shy. Soft. Had a good fussy face. Knew what an alarm clock was and helped wake us up. Screamed at me when I'd returned from my travels. She nodded off by my monitor while I worked.
Handsome and I went on a big trip this summer. Before I left, I rubbed her forehead with my nose and said, "You be here when I return." She was.
Then I went to RWA and again, I asked her to be home when I returned. She was.
But not for long.
Her hips were going wonky. She fell a lot. We'd pick her up and set her straight. She didn't eat much. She didn't drink much. We cradled her skinny body to our chests. One morning, I could tell she was in horrible shape and I made the decision to call the vet. But by the afternoon, she was nearly gone.
Someone asked me how I felt. I said, "Like my heart had been ripped out of my chest, stomped on a couple of times, and thrust back inside of me."
Yeah, that sad.
Recently, my sister had to say bye to her spaniel/terrier mix, Oreo. He lived to be 14 and everyone always commented, "He was a good dog."
Some of my writer friends on Facebook lost their furry friends.
I still have the silly malti-poos, Champ and Jones. But they aren't my Scoo.
Friday, August 14, 2015
Saying goodbye to kitty hurt my heart #petloss #MFRWorg #cats #animalfriends
Posted by Vicki Batman, sassy writer of sexy and funny fiction, blogger at Handbags, Books...Whatever at 1:00 AM