There is something artificial about setting aside one particular day to remember. Artificial, yes. But also merciful.
We debate the following to no end at Tabby’s Place: Is it easier to say goodbye when we’ve had a long time to prepare? Or does the suddenness of loss spare us a searing season of grief?
The following comes with gracious permission from Gigi‘s adopter, Dave. I could not possibly add to the power of his words, so I gratefully reprint them here in full.
I very nearly titled this post, “Cat knows not her time.” On second thought, however, perhaps she does.
Every once in a great while, you feel the tectonic plates of life shift. It may start with a groan or a whimper, but the next thing you know the continents are different, and there are mountains where oceans once stretched. I am, of course, talking about cats.
Every once in a while, someone comes along who steals your heart in about 2 seconds, and you know you’ll never be the same again. Sometimes that someone is a tiny 4-week-old kitten.
Eras end. Chapters close. But sometimes we just can’t brace ourselves for the turn of the page.
These are always very hard for me to write, as it means I have lost a good friend.