3321: Set the Fire to the Third Bar
Breaking chain, but I don't feel like keeping it going tonight.
I found out tonight--quite belatedly--that my first kitty, or the closest I could call "mine" in any sense of the word, was wandering too far from home and became another roadkill statistic. It bugs me, since I had always had notions of sweeping in one day and taking him back, because he was MY kitty. Now I will always wonder if I could have and missed my chance =( and, worse, if he died slowly in agony vs. quick and painlessly.
What I have to remember is a wise bit of all-purpose advice in Carolyn's chat that comes to mind:Even decisions that are RIGHT for you don't come with NO regrets. I wish someone had told me that a few years ago. I used to think if I'd made the right choice I wouldn't have regrets and really beat myself up about some things that I now see were the best choice for me at the time, under my circumstances.
So, yes, even if it meant he departed the way he entered our lives--found by the side of the road, though it was he who found us first--I have to remind myself that he would have been happier with the Goodwins than being shuffled between all our tiny apartments [and I would NOT have let him be an outdoor cat anymore without a proper fenced-in yard].
The thing that bugs me, which is sort of something I've always had trouble getting over, was the method of delivery. Eric told me that Gabe had died in the same sort of "Well, today at work..." tone AND with a sort of grin, like, "Isn't that funny?" I know it's the way he is, how he's used to conversing, but I've been more sensitive to that kind of impropriety of mood, that "Oh, he's allergic to chicken, so he'll just be sick in the bathroom for two hours instead of NOT eating the chicken" kind of obliviousness to common social sense, like this is nothing but small talk instead of a delivery of bad news.
Yes, I realize people are people--and cats are cats--but it's hard to get over even something trivial once it starts bugging me [insert bird-repellant noise from Harris Teeter]. I have a hard time not feeling a little more upset over this than I might have been, even though I know I shouldn't. It's one of those things I've unconsciously internalized, and all it does is make things harder than they need to be, like getting mad during rush hour because on off-hours the commute only takes ten minutes so why is it taking thirty. It's stupid, what emotions do.
Mostly, I miss my kitty =( I mean, it was like he came to me, ya know? Seriously, I pictured him one day, this beautiful vagrant stripey grey cat who just enjoyed life, and the next thing we knew, here he was bounding up and saying, "Hi there! Feed me?"
*pouts* =C I want my kitty. Hell, another kitty would do... ['course, I have a wuffie to bug for that--*bug*bug*]
I found out tonight--quite belatedly--that my first kitty, or the closest I could call "mine" in any sense of the word, was wandering too far from home and became another roadkill statistic. It bugs me, since I had always had notions of sweeping in one day and taking him back, because he was MY kitty. Now I will always wonder if I could have and missed my chance =( and, worse, if he died slowly in agony vs. quick and painlessly.
What I have to remember is a wise bit of all-purpose advice in Carolyn's chat that comes to mind:Even decisions that are RIGHT for you don't come with NO regrets. I wish someone had told me that a few years ago. I used to think if I'd made the right choice I wouldn't have regrets and really beat myself up about some things that I now see were the best choice for me at the time, under my circumstances.
So, yes, even if it meant he departed the way he entered our lives--found by the side of the road, though it was he who found us first--I have to remind myself that he would have been happier with the Goodwins than being shuffled between all our tiny apartments [and I would NOT have let him be an outdoor cat anymore without a proper fenced-in yard].
The thing that bugs me, which is sort of something I've always had trouble getting over, was the method of delivery. Eric told me that Gabe had died in the same sort of "Well, today at work..." tone AND with a sort of grin, like, "Isn't that funny?" I know it's the way he is, how he's used to conversing, but I've been more sensitive to that kind of impropriety of mood, that "Oh, he's allergic to chicken, so he'll just be sick in the bathroom for two hours instead of NOT eating the chicken" kind of obliviousness to common social sense, like this is nothing but small talk instead of a delivery of bad news.
Yes, I realize people are people--and cats are cats--but it's hard to get over even something trivial once it starts bugging me [insert bird-repellant noise from Harris Teeter]. I have a hard time not feeling a little more upset over this than I might have been, even though I know I shouldn't. It's one of those things I've unconsciously internalized, and all it does is make things harder than they need to be, like getting mad during rush hour because on off-hours the commute only takes ten minutes so why is it taking thirty. It's stupid, what emotions do.
Mostly, I miss my kitty =( I mean, it was like he came to me, ya know? Seriously, I pictured him one day, this beautiful vagrant stripey grey cat who just enjoyed life, and the next thing we knew, here he was bounding up and saying, "Hi there! Feed me?"
*pouts* =C I want my kitty. Hell, another kitty would do... ['course, I have a wuffie to bug for that--*bug*bug*]