Feel free to skip this, because it’s full of the sad.
A week ago today, we had to put our sweet girl, Morrighan, down. She’d lost a lot of weight, and despite feeding her a bland diet of bone broth and boiled chicken (gag) she wasn’t putting it back on. As it turns out, her kidneys were full of cancer.
We made the horrible (but ultimately best) decision to put her down. It’s never an easy decision to make. But it feels so much harder to come to terms with because she was so young. Not even 10 yet. Usually, our cats live between 16-18 years.
It’s been extra awful because Willow, her litter mate, has been wandering around the house crying for her. And I keep finding her laying in the weird hidey holes her sister liked to lay in. Places that Willow’s never been interested in before.
We we adopted them, Matt said that we had to get them both because splitting them up would be like splitting up me and my sister, Cait. It made me cry happy tears when he said it. Now, the memory of it just makes me cry, period.
And honestly, I just fucking miss her. She’d hang out with me, for hours while I worked, and she’d sleep on my pillow at night. I miss her purr and her meow and her constant chatting with me. She was kind of a mouthy cat and would chatter. She’d also help me knit. And crawl under the covers at night to play cave kitten. Or play blanket monster while attacking out feet.
I know that there are people who might think that going from a house with four cats to three wouldn’t be a huge deal or even very noticeable. But I feel her absence constantly. And it really fucking hurts.
That’s it for me, today. I’m going to go cuddle Willow and check out the other posts. Hug your critters for me.