I understand your pain.  I took my 17-year old into the vet last June 15th 
because he was very old and fragile, and refused food that morning.  He had 
separated himself from the pride, self-exiling to the living room weeks before. 
 

The technician detected a wheeze - he had been wheezing for years.  He was 17, 
after all.  So the technician told me that he would take Demon in back and put 
him on some oxygen until the doctor could look him over.  He yowled as she took 
him away, and for once in my life, my cat senses failed me.

Moments later, the doctor came into the room to tell me that Demon had arrested 
on the exam table, and there was nothing they could do.  Before I had even had 
a chance to thank him for all the joy he had given me, to honor him by holding 
him as he passed - all of that was taken away from the two of us.

It is hard to not think, "If I had only..."  Blaming oneself seems natural, 
when the result is the loss of one of our close family members.  And make no 
mistake, that's what the furbabies we take into our lives quickly become.  (I 
am crying as I am writing this.)

But do not let an unfortunate accident diminish the bond you had with your 
fur-daughter, however short it may have been.  Cherish what time you had 
together, and what you learned from her.  Take what she taught you into the 
future with you, for while it still hurts right now, eventually there will be 
another furry relationship, and the things you have learned with Bridget will 
provide you with invaluable lessons for the future.

For the kitties,
Jeffrey Mills



      
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