Monday, July 2, 2012


On Father's Day one of my husband's worst fears came true.  He had to call me while I was out of town and tell me something was wrong with one of our animals.  It was Einstein.  Einstein was my cat who Derek ultimately adopted.  The day I went to pick out a kitten at the Humane Society, it was he who was climbing up the cage they were in.  Reaching for me.  Meowing...begging me to resucue him.  When he was little he was this precosious, ornery, smart, and crafty kitten.  He got into the trash.  Ate spaghetti O's and twizzlers.  He could catch a mouse like no other.  In silent stalkery.  I am happy to say my little green eyed boy didn't waver in those things the older he got. 

The Friday night before I left to go to STL the girls and I sat on the couch eating rice pudding.  Einstein was right there eating his fair share.  (He always did have a taste for whatever I was eating...very un-cat like)  I left for STL on Saturday morning.  If only I had known I would have given him more rice pudding.  I would have petted him more.  I would have told him I loved him.  I would have let him sleep in bed with me one more time.

Sunday morning Derek called me.  Einstein was having a siezure and it was not stopping.  After our friend Kristy came to be with the girls he took my boy to the Emergency Vet.  After they finally got the siezure to stop and ran some tests, it was apparent his quality of life was compromised.  While I was sitting at the cemetary with Charlie, Derek and I made the decison to put Einstein to sleep.  Just saying that hurts my heart. 

Derek held him while the vet administered the injection.  He said it was instantanious and that he stroked his head and told him how much we love him.  I hate that I wasn't there.  He was my constant companion for almost 14 years.  In the end, I was not there for him

I picked up his ashes on Thursday night.  As I held this little gold container, I could no longer keep myself composed.  I began to wail.  Cry loudly and so hard in the parking lot of the vets office.  Derek stared at me, helpless.  Until he wrapped his arms around me to soften the sobs.  It was at that moment, I realized my friend was never coming home.  I had managed to avoid reality until then.

I know...I know...I know...he was just a cat.  I'm sure that is what many of you are saying.  Afterall, we have survived losing a child.  We can certainly survive losing a cat.  Yes, this is true.  But, he wasn't just a cat.  He was so not just a cat.  He was my daughters' best friend.