Hello, Goodbye

A sad day at the vet's office yesterday. I picked up Dominick's records and will be filing them away. He's really gone. For good.

Sebastian is with me only because Dominick isn't. Nick died of congestive heart failure in November, losing a battle he'd fought for seven months. We spent 14 blissful years together. The back page of his records is the Consent to Perform Euthanasia. I see my signature there now, and I can't help but tear up, recalling what it took to put pen to paper.

Sylvia was at the vet yesterday for a mild illness, in the same room, on the same table, being seen by the same doctor who shaved Nick's leg for the last time and who helped me wrap his body in a blanket. When she whisked Sylvia away for some blood work, I stared long and hard at that table, remembering.

A week ago, Sebastian was in the same room, too, lighting the place up with his kitten energy, his sweet disposition and his good health.

Six weeks after losing Nick, I was ready for a new cat. And I found Sebastian. Lucky him. And luckier me!

Fourteen years? I'd be grateful for one.