Sammy and Mikey

Families are about more than people. My immediate family consists of my husband, our Little Miss, myself and our two pets: Felines, both, named Sammy and Mikey.

Yesterday we learned that Sammy is ill. I have suspected something was awry for a little while now, but after procrastinating for as long as my conscience would allow I finally acquiesced, accepted the inevitable, and took her to the vet. My fears were confirmed.

It’s hard to deal with the loss of a pet, but even harder to be the one to explain it to your child. Having to look Little Miss straight in the eyes and tell her that this is the last weekend that Sammy will be with us, that early next week her Dad and I will take Sammy to the vet for the very last time, was, well…soul sapping. At her age, Little Miss understands death, she gets the finality of it all. She knows that “being put to sleep” is a pleasant euphemism used to camouflage the true nature of the act it describes, which really has nothing at all to do with sleep. And so, with tears pooling in the corners of her dark, almond eyes, I wrapped my arms tightly around her and mustered up the strength to issue the following pearl of wisdom and comfort: “I know, Honey. It just sucks.”

I am not a crazy cat lady, really. I just like my cats. Sammy was mine for 15 years, my longest relationship as an adult. Through my first marriage, my step-child, the birth of my own child, my divorce, my current marriage, and all that has followed, there was always Sammy, purring her loud, diesel-engine purr; pawing at my shoulder to remind me to keep stroking her calico fur; and following me from room-to-room, day-after-day, year-after-year, a subtle reminder of her constancy. I will miss her.