It has taken me nearly two months, but I finally picked up
my Blanchie's ashes from the people in charge of cremating animals in this town. The kind woman behind the desk made some sort of borderline snarky comment about how they were wondering if I'd ever be coming, before the requisite apologies for my loss. Then she handed Blanche over in a
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it is hard losing a pet.
now that i am not officially allergic i am reconsidering my position. i would really like a dog, but can't in the housing i am in, and if i got a cat it would have to be one of those white ones that catch cancer if they go outside, or something, since my other two really died of staying in related aliments, so the guilt was humungous. for the longest time i didn't get another one just because i felt such grief. as with boyfriends, there seems to be no dovetailing with me, long spaces for the grief to settle. is this a bit wrong, maybe? the toffs here get a labrador and call it toby or something, and when it dies they get another one and call it the same name as the old one! very pragmatic.
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