Saying Another Goodbye
The Wild Roses Are In Bloom
"How many cat years are in a human year?" Joe asked me as we lay in bed yesterday morning. He knew I was thinking about Gretel.
"Some people say seven, but there are plenty of cats who live to be at least 20, so some people say five."
"Well even at five years, that would make Gretel, wow, really old."
About an hour later, with a little cry of goodbye, the last of my four transplanted California cats passed away. She was 20 years old. Her death wasn't entirely unexpected, though I didn't think I'd be out in the garden digging another grave less than a week after the sudden loss of New Cat.
Apart from being periodically terrorized by the 4-1/2 pound Doodle Monster during the past decade, I don't think Gretel could have asked for a better cat life.
She spent her last day laying in the shade on the front step, taking in the fresh air and the farm. She waited for me to wake up the next morning and was wrapped in my arms when she took her final breath.
We were gone much of yesterday, and when I opened the front door late last night I caught myself automatically checking Gretel's favorite spots to see where she was, to make sure she was okay. I was surprised her absence hit me so hard. A little while later I realized that I've lived with Gretel longer than I've lived with anyone else in the world--more than half my life.
I'm not sad for Gretel, but a hundred years is a long time to be together. It's no wonder my heart and my home feel so empty. The memories, of course, will live on as long as I do, and for that I will always be grateful.
© 2007 FarmgirlFare.com, the award-winning blog where Farmgirl Susan shares photos & stories of her crazy country life on 240 remote Missouri acres.
The Wild Roses Are In Bloom
"How many cat years are in a human year?" Joe asked me as we lay in bed yesterday morning. He knew I was thinking about Gretel.
"Some people say seven, but there are plenty of cats who live to be at least 20, so some people say five."
"Well even at five years, that would make Gretel, wow, really old."
About an hour later, with a little cry of goodbye, the last of my four transplanted California cats passed away. She was 20 years old. Her death wasn't entirely unexpected, though I didn't think I'd be out in the garden digging another grave less than a week after the sudden loss of New Cat.
Apart from being periodically terrorized by the 4-1/2 pound Doodle Monster during the past decade, I don't think Gretel could have asked for a better cat life.
She spent her last day laying in the shade on the front step, taking in the fresh air and the farm. She waited for me to wake up the next morning and was wrapped in my arms when she took her final breath.
We were gone much of yesterday, and when I opened the front door late last night I caught myself automatically checking Gretel's favorite spots to see where she was, to make sure she was okay. I was surprised her absence hit me so hard. A little while later I realized that I've lived with Gretel longer than I've lived with anyone else in the world--more than half my life.
I'm not sad for Gretel, but a hundred years is a long time to be together. It's no wonder my heart and my home feel so empty. The memories, of course, will live on as long as I do, and for that I will always be grateful.
© 2007 FarmgirlFare.com, the award-winning blog where Farmgirl Susan shares photos & stories of her crazy country life on 240 remote Missouri acres.
