It's been a long hard year, and I can only hope that next year, things will be a little bit better. First, we lost my grandfather. Then, my parents' dog was diagnosed with osteosarcoma (we took him to the vet thinking it was arthritis and found out he had a deadly cancer instead). While we were treating the dog for pain, my family's cat died suddenly, probably of a heart attack or stroke. He had had a heart murmur for years. A few weeks later, we had to put the dog to sleep because his pain was increasing and we didn't want him to suffer. As hard as it was to see the dog in pain, it was harder on me to lose Alex (our kitty) without warning. I'm glad he didn't have to suffer for more than a few moments, and I'm especially glad that I live near to my parents so that I could say goodbye. All throughout college I worried that sometime would happen to a family member, including the kitties, and I would be too far away to come home and be with them. I'm grateful that I was able to be there shortly after he passed so that I could say goodbye.
Alex was my baby. When we got the kitties, he was supposed to be my brother's cat, and Hannah was supposed to be mine. But we don't choose our pets--they definitely choose us. Alex slept on my bed, cuddle with me and kept me awake at night with his talking and loud purring. He was a big orange and white tabby who wasn't terribly graceful. He used to climb onto the roof and get "stuck," forgetting how to get back down. I'd have to get a ladder and pull him off the rooftop sopping wet. He loved to tell me all about his day, but also was a great comforter when I was upset. As an early Christmas present, my mom gave me a beautiful ornament of an orange tabby cat with angel wings.
Almost four months ago, I adopted a sweet kitty boy. He's got hyperthyroidism that has also given him a heart murmur. Everyday, I wonder if he'll still be alive when I get home. If he's not waiting for me in the window, I immediately start to wonder whether I've lost him too.
I keep hoping that this next year will be better, with less pain and less heartache. But I guess the only way to avoid that kind of pain is not to love anything, and I'd rather accept the pain than miss out on all the love our animals have to share with us.
Alex was my baby. When we got the kitties, he was supposed to be my brother's cat, and Hannah was supposed to be mine. But we don't choose our pets--they definitely choose us. Alex slept on my bed, cuddle with me and kept me awake at night with his talking and loud purring. He was a big orange and white tabby who wasn't terribly graceful. He used to climb onto the roof and get "stuck," forgetting how to get back down. I'd have to get a ladder and pull him off the rooftop sopping wet. He loved to tell me all about his day, but also was a great comforter when I was upset. As an early Christmas present, my mom gave me a beautiful ornament of an orange tabby cat with angel wings.
Almost four months ago, I adopted a sweet kitty boy. He's got hyperthyroidism that has also given him a heart murmur. Everyday, I wonder if he'll still be alive when I get home. If he's not waiting for me in the window, I immediately start to wonder whether I've lost him too.
I keep hoping that this next year will be better, with less pain and less heartache. But I guess the only way to avoid that kind of pain is not to love anything, and I'd rather accept the pain than miss out on all the love our animals have to share with us.
