It’s funny how small things can mean a lot. Take for instance, the animals in your life. It’s not like we don’t know they have limited life spans, communication, and intelligence (though I think their brains are plenty smart, just a different kind of smart, you know?). We interact with our animals for only a few minutes each day, and we co-exist peacefully (as long as you hand out food and treats with some semblance of regularity). It doesn’t take long for them to become part of your life, part of your routine. Soon you have a snuggle-buddy each time you watch Dr. Who, or a playmate if you bring home a cardboard box, or a companion for a brisk walk outside.
They leave us too soon.
Wilbur, the cat who adopted us, was suffering from kidney failure, low body temperature, dehydration and other assorted issues. We think he was roughly 17 years old, though we aren’t completely sure. Because of his poor health, we made the incredibly hard decision to end his suffering on Friday, in the middle of a snowstorm. My eyes have just now stopped looking like jellyfish, and I was able to keep mascara on for most of the day.
With no commentary but a heavy heart, swollen eyes, and an empty spot next to me on the couch, here are a few shots of Wilbur, the green-eyed kitty who adopted our family.
Rest in peace, cranky old man. I hope you’re warm and safe and dry.
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