Friday I lost my old lady - my grumpy, misanthropic, deeply beloved Siamese cat.
She's not the first cat I've lost in my life, but she's the first one I've had for so long.
I am not handling it well. Or maybe I am; I can't say that i know what it would mean to handle it well. I am working, I am parenting, I am getting through the day. I even laugh sometimes, or enjoy doing things.
But everything is gray. And I still turn sometimes, thinking I'm seeing her out of the corner of my eye.
Her passing was planned. There are a lot of euphemisms for it; but really, we kill them because it's kinder than letting them die in pain they can't understand. I was with her, scratching her head, telling her she wasn't going to hurt anymore. Everybody at the vet's was lovely. My dad was with me.
I stayed with her because it was my duty, because I'd never ever let her die alone.
She wasn't alone. But now, I am.