I Miss My Sweet Scout
We buried her Friday on the hillside near some birch trees. We covered her grave with rocks. Every time I go out the front door, I look up there and I think of how her body is there, underneath the soil, and how I can't pet her anymore or call her name and have her run to me, meowing. Friday was the last time we looked at each other with that understanding that said, "I will always be your kitty," and "I will always be your person." Then we brought her to the vet. I held her the whole time they shaved a patch on her front leg, and told her it was OK, that I loved her. Then they injected her with an overdose of something... I don't remember the name, and just like that she was gone and I was left without her. It was my gift to her, cutting off her suffering. She was starving to death. I don't know why. I tried everything, all different kinds of food, but most of it she wouldn't eat. She cried for food all the time, but when I put it down, she barely touched it. I gave her Prednisone, but it didn't seem to help. She was so frail, yet so desperate for food that she still tried to hunt. She was 13. I hoped we would have another seven years together. I loved her so much. When she was gone, I cried to God, and then carried her out of the clinic. I stroked her face, her paws, told her how much I loved her, how she was part of my heart and would always be. I survived my brother's death and I know I'll survive hers, but it hurts so, so much. The other night I dreamed she came back from the dead and she was healthy again and we went on adventures together. "She's with the ancient ancestors," my husband said. "She went to their fire and they're feeding her treats, calling her their spirit creature. And she's sitting there, with her front paws on a rock, and she's purring and warm and her belly is full." My Scout just can't be gone. Not her spirit. Not that thing in her that always spoke to this thing in me. Bodies may fail but not our internal being. It just can't be.