Sadness

Hillary and I had the saddest weekend. Our 11 year old cat, Tres, died on Saturday afternoon. He had a bout of bladder stones, which he was prone to, and went to the vet for a procedure he's had several times over his life. Things went well until they tried to bring him out of the anesthetic and he just couldn't wake back up. I was stunned, shocked and devastated. I never even gave a thought to the possibility that I might not carry him back out of that vet's office.

I rescued him from the pound when I was in college. He was the runt of the litter and abandon by his mother before he should have even been weened. He was flea ridden and full of worms. What can I say, I love an underdog. Maybe that was part of what made our bond so stong, he knew I took a chance on him. For all my love and care (not to mention money for all his treatments) I got to spend 11 years with the sweetest, most loveable cat I've ever met.

His level of affection was more on par with a Golden Retriever than a house cat. He always met me at the door when I'd come home from work and when I put my face close to his he would lick the tip of my nose every time. Sharing an affinity for sleep, many times on the weekend I'd wake early in the morning to him moving my hair with his paws so he could lay down next to me. And there we would lay, both of our heads on the pillow, backs pressed together until 10, 11, sometimes noon. I will miss those mornings and his raspy meow and his unwavering adoration.

I know there is an upside, he's no longer in pain and doesn't have to endure the medicine and the trips to the vet he was growing more and more intolerant of.

But I will miss my sweet, sweet boy.