Our sweet wuddley-bug is leaving us tomorrow. She is seventeen years old, and the last survivor of the menagerie of cats, dogs, rabbits, birds, and assorted rodents and reptiles we had when I was still married and the children were small.
Cuddles went crazy when she was young, and has spent her entire life suffering from what I can only describe as feline agoraphobia and paranoia. She had a litter of kittens, and we gave them away, as one does. But Cuddles somehow took it to heart like no other kitty mother I've ever known, and her poor little mind snapped. It's indescribable how bad I've felt about it for all these years. She's lived in my daughter's room, hiding under the bed all day, every day, except for when someone she trusts is in there with her with the door closed, at which point she'll cautiously come out, eat, use her box, and get some affection. But she is now deteriorating fast, mentally and physically, and my daughter has decided that it will be kindest to let her go peacefully rather than try to eke out a few last weeks or months living in torment and pain.
Back during the time I've described to you before, when I hit bottom and God softened my heart, it was Cuddles who was the catalyst that night. I was keeping her while my daughter was living in the dorm, and I'd go in there once a day or so and just sit on the floor so she wouldn't be alone for a while. One night, as I was holding her, it struck me how much like her I'd become, and I broke down and wept for the first time in decades.
So, Goodbye, sweet kitty. I will miss you so, but I hope to see you in a happier place one day, reunited with your babies and your mind.
No comments:
Post a Comment