When mourning comes

My dear cat, Logan, who graced my May post cross the rainbow bridge a couple weeks ago. It was unexpected. Harsh. Lonely. Infuriating. His life forfeit in the balance between his age and the outrageous costs of veterinary care. My sorrow amplified over being forced into that decision.

I have to say, it is hard to mourn lost pets. People can be so judgmental, or uninformed, or perhaps it is just my defensive nature holding people away for fear of their barbs.

“He was just a cat.”

“He was 12.”

“He had a good life.”

“You did the right thing.”

All true. Still… He was just MY cat… my friend… my companion… for 12 years. He had a good life. He should have had more good life. Yes… I did the right thing but that ‘thing‘ still sucks.

It’s been a couple weeks. I still find myself in tears now and then. But the FB feeds have marched along and I don’t feel that I have anyone to talk to about my pain and conflict. Today I got a f**king survey from the emergency vet… a survey. Seriously. I filled it out with as much logic and clear thinking I could muster. Then I cried.

I miss my cat. My other cat, Wayne, also misses Logan. We comfort each other. The gap in our daily routines will lessen over time. They were buddies. We were buddies.

Mourning sucks.


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