Some people might get a little choked up reading this, so I’m putting it behind a cut. You can skip it completely, or wait until you’re not at work to read it.
So on the 24th, after a completely miserable 23rd, filled with a lot of angst, thoughts, stress, crying, and a trip to the Pet ER, we said goodbye.
For all the years I had her (which was probably about fifteen years), Gizmo liked to sit on my shoulder and watch things going on, or just get a free ride around the house.
That’s why I got her pawprints tattooed on my shoulder.
Since the 24th, I’ve called both Cardiff and Robin “Gizmo” more than ten times each. Several times when I’ve gotten up in the middle of the night I’ve checked for her before getting out of (or into) bed. More than once I’ve come home from work and stopped myself from calling for her.
Last night I was in the kitchen and caught sight of the pill splitter I used for her meds and thought “Oh, shit. I need to give Gizmo a pill”. Add one more to the count of “randomly bursting into tears”, which is currently in the hundreds already.
Giz was about 18. It was a good, long, happy, amazing, magic life. I figure in about six months to a year, a strange kitten will show up at my door. She’s just that kind of cat.
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