Friday, November 20, 2009


This week hasn't been the best week of my life, and thus I've been a bit absent from the blogsphere.

As you know, a few months ago, my little Taz had some issues and we thought we were going to have to say good-bye. We were granted a miracle, of sorts, when it turned out she had a hyper-hyper active thyroid. She never did do things in a small way. In fact, the vet hadn't seen numbers like hers before. Go figure.

Well, miracles only last so long, and we weren't lucky enough to have a second miracle.

Pets never leave us . . . at least in the ordinary sense. They don't grow up, go off to college, get married, have families of their own, and every now and then come back home for a brief visit. Once they come home with us, if we're lucky, they're here for many, many years, with unconditional love. They might irritate us by waking us up at 3 AM, for no other reason then they need their ears scratched, or just for the heck of it. They might only want to be picked up on their terms, and only their terms, and yet we love them nonetheless.

Perhaps the hardest thing any pet owner has to do is make the decision to say good-bye.

Frank and I made that decision yesterday for sweet Tasmyn. Trust me, it's one of the hardest decisions I've ever had to make, not that the decision to say good-bye to Jordy last December was any easier.

Poor little Taz just wasn't getting better on the pills for her thyroid and the time finally came, again her terms, not mine, to take her to the vet. She passed away at 11:07 AM yesterday morning.

I learned today how very lucky we were to have her for 16 years. You see, the average lifespan of an indoor cat is 12 years. She let us be a part of her life for 16 years. So, Tasmyn graced us with her presence for four more years than most cat owners have.

I'll miss her terribly. We both will. I'll miss her deep, Dorothy Zbornack meow, the head butts she'd give me every now and then, and just the knowledge that she's sleeping in the dog bed while I'm reading a book on the couch.

I've cried and cried for my baby girl, and there are more tears yet to come. She was my temperamental cat, my little witch, so to speak, who made it known from the start that we would be doing things on her terms, and only her terms.

The first day I brought her home, she stalked around the apartment, discovered a small space beneath my kitchen cabinets, and proceeded to squeeze her tiny, eight week old body under the cabinets. Oh, the joys, the joys, of pulling off the quarter round and the baseboard and reaching in to get her. I think I still have those scars.

he wasn't a lap cat . . . well, unless it was on her terms. She didn't like to be picked up. She liked to eat and eat and eat . . . and thus earned her name Gargantua (oh, and she had really neat theme music when she stomped through the house).

In later years, we got the weight off and she became more mellow. She still did things on her own terms, but she was more loving with us, and loved to curl up in the bed with me at night, or on the couch next to me as I read. She'd purr so loudly.

I'll miss my little girl, more than I can ever say/write. She was/is a part of my life.

I don't think there's any comfort that is available right now, but the below poem makes me feel just a bit better.

Just this side of heaven is a place called Rainbow Bridge. When our beloved pets die, they journey to this idyllic spot. There are meadows and hills enough for all to frolic freely, and plenty of food, water and sunshine. Each and every animal is warm and comfortable.

Those pets that have been ill or aged are restored to health and vigor. Those who are hurt or maimed are made whole and strong. Each is just as we remember in our dreams of days and times gone by. Our pets are happy and content at Rainbow Bridge, except for one small thing. Every creature misses someone special, whom they've left behind.

The animals all run and play together, but the day comes when one suddenly stops, and looks into the distance. Bright eyes are intent; an eager body begins to quiver. Suddenly, running from the group, flying over the green grass, legs are going faster and faster.

You have been spotted, and you and your special friend come together in joyous reunion. Happy kisses rain upon your face; your hands again caress the beloved head; and you look once more into the trusting eyes of your pet, so long gone from your life, but never absent from your heart. Then you cross the Rainbow Bridge together. Author Unknown


Amy Allgeyer Cook said...

I'm so sorry Scott. I know how hard it is to a lose a pet. Sending hugs.

Davin Malasarn said...

Scott, I'm sorry for your loss.

Angie Ledbetter said...

Wouldn't it be nice if all our pets got together in the afterlife to play and commune?

Sending you hugs.

KLo said...

Pets are like children--each one unique, each one unforgettable ... and each one in your heart forever. My thoughts are with you : (