I’m writing this while you’re still with me. I just don’t think I’ll be able to find the words later and frankly, I need to pass the time until the vet gets here. Sitting on the floor crying, like I have much of the morning, just makes my head hurt. But at least you’re here sleeping in my lap and we can spend this last bit of time together.
Not sure how aware you are of things but Daddy came home for lunch today, I told him we had to let you go and we cried.
You were the kitty that won him over, despite a raging cat allergy, seventeen years ago. All the other animals are gone. You are the last of my first babies. Soon that part of my life will be over for good.
Twenty two years ago, I found you and your tiny litter mates under a drippy drain pipe at these apartments where my boyfriend and I used to covertly use the pool. You were all wet, covered in fleas and not looking so great. Typical of me, I found a box and took you, your siblings and your mama home. Poor Cleo *sigh* she never wanted to stay inside and on one of her jaunts outside, she got hit by a car.
I eventually found homes for the other kittens. They were all white with faint gray stripes and blue eyes and they went fast. But you, a plain little tabby cat with your mama’s giant green eyes…nobody picked you and I was secretly happy because you, my baby Moo, were the sweetest out of all of them. You were loved by all… Chuck, our big, burly neighbor would come over every day just to see “his Shmookiebear.” You were so tiny but you’d claw your way up the couch and plant yourself right on his chest and purr and make biscuits.
You’ve been with me through it all, Mooey. Twenty two years of questionable roommates, a crazy boyfriend (remember him? He loved you, too), a frillion apartments, a husband with a DOG, a baby, more cats, two houses, another baby… You’ve seen me through it all, little girl. You’ve been in my life longer than my family.
And now, after everything, I have to let you go and it’s breaking my heart into a million pieces. But watching you, I wonder if I waited too long. It didn’t seem right before, when you still had what I perceived as a will to live; a spark, despite your poor health. But now it doesn’t seem right that I let you go on this long. In the past when you’d stop eating, I was always able to turn it around. I’d try a million things and eventually you’d eat and I’d say a little prayer of thanks and we’d live to have another day or week or month together. But not this time, I guess.
I haven’t stopped crying since I sat down to write this. Like in The Snow Queen, I keep hoping that my tears will somehow heal you as they drop on your fur. I know, of course, that this is unlikely, but it doesn’t stop me from wishing.
I’ve experienced more than enough loss in my life—I know, solidly, that there is a season for all things, that everything dies eventually, but I’m not ready. The only reason I’m doing this is for you, Moobear, because now that it’s clear you are suffering, I cannot let it go on for another day. I hope you understand this on some level.
Forgive me for playing God. It feels wrong and yet letting you continue like this feels even more wrong.
Please know that you were always special to me. Please know how much I love you and that letting you go is the hardest thing in the world for me.
And now, the vet is here.
Shmoo passed today at 3:19pm. Rest in peace, angel.
Edited to Add 4/19:
It’s not right without you, Shmoo. Even with Bootsy & Kitters around, the house is just too quiet. I see you out of the corner of my eye and sometimes I swear I hear you in the kitchen. Maybe today I will be able to get rid of your box and put your bowl away. Or not.
I miss you.