Had to put one of my cats down a couple of weeks ago. Miss Seven came down with kidney problems rather suddenly, and it was either that or let her suffer through it for my benefit.
Fuck that.
Two weeks later, I'm still having dreams that she's still there. I keep hearing cat food rustling in the bowl, and little claws tapping on the hardwood while her sister is curled up next to me. Then I wake up and remember that she's not there. She was my buddy for twelve years, so I don't know how long it's supposed to take before I don't feel shitty about it any longer.
I miss that high-pitched, irritating meow that couldn't be quieted no matter what. I miss her incessant cuddling at the most inconvenient times. I miss her commandeering my pillow and purring me to sleep. I miss catching her stealing our socks at 1:30 in the morning, every morning, like clockwork.
It never gets easier, does it?
Fuck.
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