Our cat, Gracie, was coming along great with the travel training. She had gotten used to her harness, learned to get in her travel carrier for food, and had taken a few trips in our Subaru.
Then, suddenly last Friday night, she was gone.
Though our hearts were heavy as we put her in the ground today, we are grateful for the fifteen years of love, devotion, and comic relief she gave us.
Her last day with us was lovely. She spent the afternoon with us on the couch. Her last meal was the slices of muenster cheese I gave her as she sat in the kitchen while I was making dinner. Then she napped in the den, basking in the setting sun. After a few sniffs from a dog who noticed something was different, she got up and came over to us at the dinner table. Just under our feet she stopped and had a seizure. I crawled under the table and stayed with her until the end. It was brief. One of the most mercifully short deaths I’ve ever known.
Today we took her out to my parents house where past family pets have been laid to rest. It was painful. It was tearful. Now tonight there’s a cat-shaped hollow spot next to me in the bed that matches the hole in my heart.
I write this post in memory of Gracie, a friend who never left me unattended when I was sick; who spent her nights keeping me warm and cuddled; who wasn’t afraid to take on dobermans to protect me; who helped me pick the right partner to marry; who saw me through teenager to thirty-something. She was more than a cat. She was a confidant, a muse, and a guardian. She was family. May she rest in peace knowing that she is deeply cherished and eternally loved.