I feel like as Little-Miss-Updates-Her-Blog-Every-Five-Seconds I should have more to say about this. Inspirational words of life and death and assurances that because she was very old, we were ready to let her go.
My hands hurt from holding her with us.
After what we’ve already lost – after what other people far less fortunate than us have lost – it seems so silly to be inconsolable about a cat. We were feeling better about possibly moving into the rebuilt house this spring, cautiously optimistic as our future home’s skeleton began to take on musculature in front of us.
But Bear won’t come home now. I don’t know how anyone who lived with her these past seventeen years could be okay with that.