Well, I had a first today. It has been coming for 18 years.
I was a little kiddo when my dad said I could keep two kittens out of a litter belonging to some close friends of ours who were moving out of the country. We named the little boy and girl and fell in love with them. As an only child, I would play with my cats in lieu of siblings when I went outside; they were my babies. Blanco, the boy, has always been very affectionate, and he put up with a lot when I was a kid– in the form of baby clothes, bicycle rides, etc. I remember all my life having a deep, dark terror of losing them.
They have grown old now. Stormy is on thyroid pills and Blanco has been losing weight lately. I’ve been concerned, and unsure of what to do, since taking him in and submitting him to testing would mean emptying my bank account of very necessary funds.
Tonight, Stormy came inside (they have always lived outside and come into a garage or shed at night), but we couldn’t find Blanco. Mom and I walked the street, the neighborhood, the goat pastures and horse pasture for an hour or more. So many times I’ve had to look for him, calling and calling, and then, there he would come, trotting home, bright, long, beautiful yellow fur showing up even in the dark.
Finally my brother came out to help. He found him. Blanco was stretched out in the neighbor’s pasture, about twenty feet beyond our back fence. There was no blood, but he was so stiff he must have been there long before we all got home from school and work.
So now, I’ve burried a pet. Which is something so small and commonplace in the arena of life, but that doesn’t stop my heart from hurting. It sure does.