Joy and sorrow...

Last November I brought home a cat that had been a grooming client. His owners had a lifestyle change and cat ownership no longer fit for them. His name was Archie, but I changed it to Catfish Hunter. He was a 13 year old Maine Coon cat. Huge, regal, dignified. He fit right in here, and it made me happy to have him. Then he developed Lymphoma. We treated him with steroids for 6 weeks or so to keep the symptoms at bay. He enjoyed his meals, lying in the sun, napping. He did lots of napping. Today my good veterinarian slipped a needle in his vein and sent him off to where good cats go when their bodies betray them. I hear people say things like, "I'll never have another dog (or cat, or horse or...) because it hurts when they die, and they die too soon." It does hurt. The house feels oddly empty without the big cat lying on the table by the door, or demanding supper. But the days I had him were rich with the specialness that was him. He was here too short a time, but I was glad to have him for the days I did. I think he was glad, too.