More Than a Pet

I've heard it said that death gets easier the older you get but I don't think that is necessarily true.  This week as we lost our precious kitty, Halima, I was forced to feel that total feeling of helplessness and loss.  I realize that she was "just a cat" but she was much more than that to us.  She heard our whispered secrets and never told a soul.  She felt our tears on her fur when we cried over our hurts and losses and didn't judge us.  She snuggled up next to us in bed because she knew she was loved and safe.  She would pull ponytail bands out of our hair because she loved to play with them.  She was part of our family and we loved her.  She always had to pull our arms down to check our drinking glasses to make sure we weren't drinking ice water.  She loved ice water and would ask for it several times a day and would help herself to yours if you left your glass unattended.

The hardest part of loosing her was having to watch her human, Julie,  struggle with letting go versus medical torture selfishly keeping her here with us.  The vision of Julie sitting on our stair steps brought back the memories of how she struggled the week before her father passed away.  Every day when I would pick her up from school she would have a brilliant medical fact and idea of something to save her dad.  As we discussed the reality that Halima was not getting better my heart was being torn from my chest to see her trying to grasp the fact that she was loosing someone else that she loved and offering medical solutions and hope against hope that Halima would get better.  Other than loosing a child this has to be one of the hardest things a mother goes through - to see their child struggling to accept the facts of life which, unfortunately, include death.

It's amazing how a pet can become such a huge part of a family's life and home.  We enjoyed 8 years of kitty kisses and head butts.  She loved to have her belly rubbed, well at least until she was done and if you didn't stop when she said - you suffered the wrath of sharp nails.  She knew she was loved and her last day with us she spent saying good bye.  She allowed all of us to hold her until we stopped on our own.  She allowed the kisses and head rubs and meowed back when we told her we loved her. Thank you Halima for sharing your life with us.