A Good Friend is Gone

On Saturday, just before 3pm, my kitty, Oggy, often a subject of entries here at Cellar Door, passed away.

In her last 48 hours, her breathing condition worsened and it was clear that she was uncomfortable even sitting still. Walking from the bedroom to the kitchen was a great labor and winded her. She had lost weight and would barely eat when she got to her bowl. So with heavy heart and many a tear, I made the difficult decision to have her put to sleep.

I had never been through this before.

When I arrived at the vet she was panting and struggling for breath. Two injections later, she was limp; eyes open, but empty, on the exam table. The act was unceremonious and too fast.

My girlfriend and I stayed alone with her body a few minutes and stroked her soft fur. Strange, I couldn't figure out how to honor her in that moment. There was nothing to do but stroke her and say goodbye, but it already felt too late.


It's weird to make a big deal out of losing a pet. The loss is dwarfed by the death of a human being and I'm embarrassed to make a big deal out of it when there is tragedy and immeasurable suffering every minute somewhere in this world. But tonight, alone at home, it really struck me...

Family is forever... Friends are invaluable... But eventually you get off the phone, you shut the door and the house is empty...

Except for the pets.

They are with you in those moments you don't let anyone else in. And that's what Oggy was for me.

The litter boxes are scrubbed and ready for storage. The food bowls are off the floor and put at the rear of the cupboard. As I sit here at the computer, there's no click of claws on the hardwood floor or stirring out the corner of my eye.

But that doesn't mean I won't forget she's gone and turn to look anyway...
I'll let that be how I honor her...