Little Miss isn’t happy tonight. She can’t go out because of the aforementioned threat. Chances are it was a hollow threat by a coward who will never act on anything. But I’ve never been one to gamble. She’ll stay in as long as I think necessary.
She may think she’s the boss, but she ain’t.
Being all paternal about her has brought Mr. Pinto to mind. He was our 18 year old cat that died in February. He was a gem.
Shannon says that someone dropped him over the fence when he was about 6 months old. They became fast friends. Pinto rode in the saddle bags of his motorcycle to carpentry job sites. He would sit off to the side, never fazed by the noise or chaos that those kind of sites produce.
In his later years, Mr. Pinto fell in love with our black leather sofa. He rarely got off of it. Just enough to eat and go to the litter box. He stopped going outside and started looking ragged.
Mr. Pinto was running down.
One day, he was doing worse than normal, so Shannon took him to the vet. The vet wanted to put him down, but Shannon said “No”. He called me at work, and I told him that he had done the right thing.
The vet said Pinto wasn’t in any pain, but his kidneys were failing.
The thought of Pinto being euthenized in a cold, sterile room by someone he did not know screamed to me one response: “NO!!!”
They gave him some shots, and he lived another week in no apparent pain. He seemed happy to have a reprieve, and even ventured outside a bit.
On a Monday morning in February, he crawled off into our closet to die. Shannon found him there, and brought him out. I put him on his favorite pillow on his favorite couch in his preferred corner of his favorite couch.
He passed from us about 2 pm that day.
The only comfort I can take is that he died where he was happy.
Mr. Pinto had a good run, and he was well-loved.
I’m not sure what better obituary, belated that it is, could end as well.
She may think she’s the boss, but she ain’t.
Being all paternal about her has brought Mr. Pinto to mind. He was our 18 year old cat that died in February. He was a gem.
Shannon says that someone dropped him over the fence when he was about 6 months old. They became fast friends. Pinto rode in the saddle bags of his motorcycle to carpentry job sites. He would sit off to the side, never fazed by the noise or chaos that those kind of sites produce.
In his later years, Mr. Pinto fell in love with our black leather sofa. He rarely got off of it. Just enough to eat and go to the litter box. He stopped going outside and started looking ragged.
Mr. Pinto was running down.
One day, he was doing worse than normal, so Shannon took him to the vet. The vet wanted to put him down, but Shannon said “No”. He called me at work, and I told him that he had done the right thing.
The vet said Pinto wasn’t in any pain, but his kidneys were failing.
The thought of Pinto being euthenized in a cold, sterile room by someone he did not know screamed to me one response: “NO!!!”
They gave him some shots, and he lived another week in no apparent pain. He seemed happy to have a reprieve, and even ventured outside a bit.
On a Monday morning in February, he crawled off into our closet to die. Shannon found him there, and brought him out. I put him on his favorite pillow on his favorite couch in his preferred corner of his favorite couch.
He passed from us about 2 pm that day.
The only comfort I can take is that he died where he was happy.
Mr. Pinto had a good run, and he was well-loved.
I’m not sure what better obituary, belated that it is, could end as well.
I’ll see you on the other side, old man.
Until then, don't get too attached to anyone. We'll be there soon enough. I may have another husband in tow, but he'll like you, too.
He was a redhead, just like you.
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