A day of mourning
My lovely little cat, Fiona, died last night. She was only four.
We think she was stung by a scorpion. I, of course, had no clue what was illing her, and so did not call a vet, thinking she would hold out until the morning. Now I am the one mourning.
BB is seventeen, and is still going strong. I don't know if he wonders why I have been crying since I got up, or why I have been hugging him much more often than usual. He's old, crotchety, and about as bright as a forty-watt bulb in full daylight. But, he is a lover kitty, at least to me. Heck, I've raised him since he was a kitten.
I know I will eventually stop crying when I think of Fiona, and move on with life. But for now, it's too goddamn painful to consider such a time. I miss her. I miss her lots. At least she is with Morgana.
I loved her, and I miss her. RIP, Fiona. May you never know pain and find all the baskets of warm laundry you would ever want. I'll take the pain now.
We think she was stung by a scorpion. I, of course, had no clue what was illing her, and so did not call a vet, thinking she would hold out until the morning. Now I am the one mourning.
BB is seventeen, and is still going strong. I don't know if he wonders why I have been crying since I got up, or why I have been hugging him much more often than usual. He's old, crotchety, and about as bright as a forty-watt bulb in full daylight. But, he is a lover kitty, at least to me. Heck, I've raised him since he was a kitten.
I know I will eventually stop crying when I think of Fiona, and move on with life. But for now, it's too goddamn painful to consider such a time. I miss her. I miss her lots. At least she is with Morgana.
I loved her, and I miss her. RIP, Fiona. May you never know pain and find all the baskets of warm laundry you would ever want. I'll take the pain now.