I don't know if you all remember me speaking about our cat, Doc. We had
him
almost as long as we've had each other. Eighteen years this spring. We
had
to have him put down this week, something that we were pretty sure was
coming because he had gotten so he wouldn't eat and was fur and bones and
really weak. It's been a bad time for us, well, me mostly. He was the
sweetest cat I ever had, and I've almost always had one my whole life. He
never intentionally scratched nor bit anyone, even the kids, when they
were
little. He'd just run away and hide until they were gone. You could pick
him up any time and he wouldn't think anything about it, just settle into
your arms or on you lap.
I named him Doc as he was a litter of 3, the others females that I named
Hickory and Dickory. We gave them and their mother away. They were all
tabby cats, but Doc was a tuxedo cat, black and white.
After this I don't think I want any more cats.
Anyway, I don't know why I'm posting this. Maybe because so many of you
have cats, too, and understand how it feels when one dies. Maybe I'm just
needing a few hugs from my friends. <sniffle>
Piper - cat-less and feeling sorry for myself. :(
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