Requicat In Paecem
Dear Tiger,
Becky called me yesterday, in tears. You passed away.
It seems wrong, somehow (not somehow; it seems wrong at all) that you should go while I wasn't there. But I couldn't be there; I assumed that, while you were old, you would still...be there...when I came home.
After all, you always had been before.
What hurts worse is that she said you had been missing for a few days before you came home and Mom found you under the bushes. I can't help but wonder if, maybe, you knew you were not going to be here much longer. If you wanted to see me one last time before you had to leave.
If you were looking for me...but came home because you realized you wouldn't find me in time; it takes days for humans to travel from Ontario to Nova Scotia, even by car. For a cat, on foot? It would take weeks, if not months.
And I wasn't there for you, when you left. I was not there for you - because I did not realize (how could I?) that you would be going so soon.
It seems like it was only a couple years ago that I brought you home from the pound, a tiny kitten. (But it wasn't; I was five. Has it really been seventeen years?)
I'm crying as I write this. I don't dare speak; it would turn into sobs.
They buried you in the garden, under the tiger lilys. Becky said they're buying a stone for you. That she'll buy one with your tag set into it. This...what more can I do? Especially when I'm thousands of miles away?
A picture, maybe. But I doubt that I could draw one, without it getting tear-stained. Which would rather ruin the paper.
I love you. I miss you. I will always miss you.
Hannah
(Crossposted to "note to cat")