I took dear little Cookie to the vet today. There’s something wrong and so far we don’t know what it is. She’s old and frail. I’m trying not to be worried. Going to the vet today brought up some memories. I was 14 when my cat best friend Amy was put to sleep. We had five pets and she was the first to go. She was only 8. I was mortified. I remember coming home alone that day and balling my eyes out on the floor like a toddler. The other dogs and cats gathered round me concerned. But no-one could replace my Amy. It was so unfair. She should have had another ten years left in her. That was the first time I’d ever experienced loss in such a profound way. One minute there. The next, those blue eyes were no longer.
I developed some interesting OCD habits to cope with her not being there. I imagined, in fact, she was everywhere. I would leave drawers and doors slightly ajar so she’d be able to get out of them easily. They definitely could not be closed. I’d say my prayers at night and always ask that Amy was protected. Still to this day, if I see a dead animal by the side of the road, I kiss my hand and send their spirit up to Amy and all the other pets I’ve loved and lost. By now there must be a whole gang of them, wild and tame, getting along just fine. At least a thousand I’m thinking. I’ve been saying this prayer for a looong time. I see them gamboling across a grassy plain and grazing in fields full of flowers. Everyone’s happy. Everyone’s snuggling. And they’re always there to welcome in a new fallen comrade.
I hope one day I meet them too. Especially Amy. I would give her such a big cuddle and tell her I love her.