I spent every dime I had, and begged more, just to try a treatment that I knew probably wouldn’t work.

I was only prolonging the inevitable.

I took her home. Kept her one more night, hoping she’d be better in the morning.

She only got worse.

I have her collar in my pocket. Sometime the bell jingles when I move and I look for her. I see a dark shape out of the corner of my eye and I want to call to her.

But she’s not there.


The “I should have” thoughts come at me constantly. I should have taken her to see the vet more often. I should have worried more when she started losing weight. I should have taken her to the ER vet Friday. I should have done something when she was throwing up.

Would I have had her another year? Another month? A day?

What I should have done? I should have taken her home as soon as I learned she’d been abandoned. I can’t question that.

What I should do? I should stop questioning myself. But I can’t seem to manage that.


“Why can’t I have just one miracle?” I asked.

“You’re holding her,” came the answer.


I write erase and rewrite the same things over and over seeking catharsis. The many kind words I’ve received touch my soul and chip away at my grief. It’s a wound that will never heal, never become comfortable, but I know it will lessen over time. But right now, it hurts.


I should be past this part already. Letting her go was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. My divorce wasn’t this hard on me.

She’s past her pain. She’s in a better place. It had to be done.

Dammit! I want my cat back!