Spoiler--sad post. Enter with caution.

So I will no longer be depressing friends and colleagues with FB comments on the death of my cat. I strive so hard to maintain a fun or inspired "brand" on FB (cause really that's what most of us do). I am not a big fan of oversharing or emoting. But man, this past week felt like I had the top layer of my skin ripped off. And I just wanted a bunch of people being nice to me.

In the oh-so-perfect words of my precious friend Anne, I snot-cried for 2 days straight. Stunning how grief can just kick you over and over. I hate the moment in the morning when you have forgotten. And then you remember.

I have never watched someone die up close. I was in the room when my ex-husband's grandfather died. I left dissassociative and shaken. I swore I could never do it again. and I was in the back corner of the room.

This time I was kneeling beside her face to face. I rubbed her ears with my hand and told her how much I loved her over and over again. She was looking me straight in the eyes until the moment she died. And really the light just went off. I swear something just left her. That being behind the eyes didn't just stop seeing. She went away.

A couple of times I have walked into my house and yelled "Sweetie" just so I can hear myself say it again. A part of me has hoped a little ghost cat will rub up against me. Too much ghosthunters. My life is not that mystical.

Sweetie was feral when I found her and her kittens. I caught them and fixed them, adopted out the kittens...and over the course of a year, turned my squirrel-lke Sweetie into a shy baby who loved to be petted. On her own terms of course. Kneeling beside me on the couch, not-so subtley ducking her head, pushing it into my thigh. In other words, "pet me you fool". But the minute you made an unexpected movement...she was off.

But once socialized, Sweetie didn't really know the meaning of "playing hard to get"...she just took some time to trust. She never liked being picked up. This is why I didn't recognize her weight loss through her thick fur coat. And she purred so often next to me with her head tucked....I didn't see the progressively heavier breathing. She seemed happy. She always ran to her food bowl. She slept ON me a couple nights before she died. I don't know if anyone would have noticed she was sick. I want to believe I am incredibly intuitive. but for some reason, I missed it. I will always grieve this.

I don't know if I had caught it earlier if I could have saved her. There is a small voice that is trying to make me feel guilty. Honestly--I think it's a sad way of trying to hold onto her subconsciously. But I suppose writing it down means awareness.

So I looked up the lifespan of feral cats. Without a colony, they usually live 2 years. When I brought Sweetie into my home in 2003, the vet believed she was probably about 1. So she lived in my home with company, food, warmth and soft places to sleep for 8 years. I also want to believe she learned what it feels like to be loved.

I have learned at the end of the day to never take a being for granted. To love a bit more actively. And that I am strong enough to watch someone die. And to admit to snot-crying for 2 days straight.

She was worth the whole thing. I love you Sweetie.