Then the unthinkable. Tiger died a couple of days before Christmas in 2009. The dog (a confirmed cat-hater in his youth) and the cat had peacefully cohabited for 16 months. There were never any fights, nothing in my house was destroyed and the cat never missed his litter box. One night, when I was in a morose mood over losing my long-term canine buddy, I penned the following thoughts:
"Pain woke me about 3am last week. My back was killing me so I got out of bed and walked barefoot into the kitchen. Stepped on something really sharp. I got a bottle of water and a couple of pain pills and hobbled into my den. As I plucked a piece of kitty kibble and a broken pretzel from my foot, I started to cry.
"I had a very good friend once who scarfed up anything edible that hit the floor. I missed that friend. We jokingly called him our canine vacuum cleaner. When he died, he left a huge void. My friend was named Tiger and he was a Norwich Terrier, nearly fifteen years old. He was such a good and loyal buddy. Always got up with me, no matter the time. Always sat with me when I was in pain. Even when he got too old and could no longer jump into the chair, he would lay with his head on my feet.
"I sat there in the dark crying and waiting for the pain pills to kick in when I felt a brush of fur against my bare leg. Kitty jumped into my lap, pummeled me a few times with his paws, then curled up with his head on my chest and began to purr. My tears dried up. Life does move on."
My husband and I knew we had to have another pet. Kitty was just sitting around the house getting fatter. So, we went back to the shelter and found Junior. He was four months old and full of energy.
OMG! A kitten is a whole new ballgame.
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