Last Friday night, when I was at home for break, my old cat, Max, climbed up into my bed to sit with me for awhile. It was no unusual thing, but he hadn't done it all break until then, so I sat and enjoyed a quiet, intimate moment with my cat, whom I've had since the 4th grade or so.
It was the next morning when he started to get sick. It was sudden, unexpected, and very very bad. We tended to him all day, wondering if perhaps it was a day bug as he has had once before in the past, and on Sunday he's looking *slightly* better. However, it was still an unsetting goodbye for me when I went back to school, he barely responded to my hand.
Back at school and full of school worries, and it lifts me a bit when my dad calls to say he's taken Max to the vet, and that he seems to be doing much better. I smile, I suppose it was just a bug.
Until yesterday. I got the message on my phone to call my dad "if it wasn't too late" around midnight, but those deeper senses urged me to call anyway. Max didn't get better afterall.
Losing a pet is always a cold, wrenching experience for me, especially when I'm trapped far from home when it happens. I wish I could have been there to comfort him, or at least to say goodbye. But maybe it was Max that was saying goodbye to me last week.
I am cold now and lonely, and the tasks of the week seem to be breaking my body down again. I suppose I am sick or pushing myself too hard, but I think I just miss my friend.