I got the phone call from my mother this morning that I have been expecting: “I have some news about Annie. And I think you know what that means.”  My cat was put to sleep yesterday morning. She was 22.  And while I knew this was coming as she had been losing health lately, it is still a strange feeling to know that a living being that has been in my life since I was 5 is dead.  Twenty two years is a long time.  And with Annie’s death it seems as if a chapter has closed and I am moving onto the next story.  The next stage.

Strangely it is as if I am finally emerging into adulthood. I am 26 years old, trying to make my way in the world.  Struggling to pay rent, to buy food and figure out how I want to fit into this big place.  That cat was the last thing that regularly reminded me of my childhood, the last vestige of something precious that I can barely remember.  She represented a lot more than just my cat - she was my tenuous link with so much that had passed and been forgotten. So many fleeting moments as well as many serious ones.  She presided over a the majority of my life in ways that my parents did not - I talked to her, I told her my secrets, I cuddled with her, I played with her.  She was always my best friend because she was unconditional - there was never any moodiness and she never talked back.  She just was.

And I will miss her. I am so blessed to have had her alive for such a long life.  She had a fantastic life up until the last three months, and for that I am glad.  I would not change a thing, and while it hurts to say that Annie is dead, she is still so very much alive in my mind.