Christmas Came Early

About five weeks ago I was nearly buried alive in tissue, ingesting so much tea I swayed like a water balloon when I walked, and making honking noises that would put a goose to shame. Lily, my cat, fell ill at the same time. I went to the doctor and got antibiotics for a sinus infection.  I took Lily to the vet where she spent the night.  For whatever reason, her kidneys were failing.  The vet put her on IVs, and did what she could.  I recovered – but Lily did not. The next day, at 5:20 p.m., I was back at the vet saying goodbye before she was put to sleep. She was only six years old.

For the past five weeks, when I walk in the front door after work, she’s not sitting there waiting to greet me. I’m sure she missed me terribly and her happiness on my return each night had nothing to do with the fact that she knew I would turn on the bathroom faucet for her so she could have a nice cool drink.

There has been no warm furry body curled up next to me after her night time head butting signal to raise the covers.

No butterball crawls into my lap, on top of the project I’m trying quilt, and refuses to move.

No ball of fur nearly trips and kills me in the evening racing to beat me to the bottom of the stairs where she knows her nightly Greenie treat is waiting for her.

I miss her. I miss her so much it took not one …

but two little girls ...

to fill the void she left in my heart.

They had an adventure and were well taken care of by Lisa before they found their way home to me.

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Christmas Came Early