The entire year we had with Chance was a gift, a “bonus.” He wasn’t “supposed to” have had a whole new life at the age of…well, we can only guess somewhere between 12 and 800.
That last, “bonus” year was the sweetest, and not just for Chance. His passing has left a tremendous, loud-meowing void.
It’s always too soon.
The only consolation in losing a love like Pitzel is trusting what lies ahead.
Ben arrived at Tabby’s Place a little over 18 months ago with his sister Geri.
Both Ben and Geri had been living outside for most of their lives and they were feral to say the least. Geri was fiercely protective of Ben and would guard him with her own body, flying, teeth and claws bared, at anyone who tried to go near herself or Ben.
I will confess I have dragged my heels on posting this blog entry.
Two weeks after we said goodbye, I still almost can’t believe that our Tony, our tower of love and gentleness, is gone. I am taking comfort that weeping lasts for a night, but joy comes in the morning. And, someday, we will see Tony again, healthy and whole and as sweet as ever. In the meantime, here is the farewell we bid him for his Special Needs sponsors two weeks ago.
Saying goodbye to a cat never feels right.
But sometimes it feels distinctly unfair. So it was with Cleo.
When people ask me why I’m so in love with my job at Tabby’s Place, I tell them the truth: I get to love cats and love people all day.
In the course of all that love, sometimes someone puts things into words in such a way that the Big Truths about what we do become gloriously clear for just a moment. Recently, devoted Tabby’s Place volunteer Larry penned the following, which is too good, too true, not to share with you.
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