We said goodby to one of our furry family members yesterday. While we had other things planned for our run to the city, all we really could manage to get through was going to the pet crematory and coming home – with stops for some of Maynard’s favorite fast food items that he’d always beg for (his favorite being the nacho cheese from Taco Bell’s Nacho Fries). I haven’t been able to clean my glasses because I don’t want to wipe away his last nose print from the lens.
Last night’s bedtime prep was rough on me. It just felt off that Maynard wasn’t there crying for me to hurry up with his snack, nor climbing all over me to thank me for his treats. Roscoe came in with me but he spent his time trying to get me to wrestle and play with him in the tub like he would do with Maynard. He didn’t even want his treats, he just wanted someone to play with him.
Of our two remaining cats, Roscoe is obviously taking it the hardest. Pearl had always preferred to keep to herself most of the time and didn’t get involved much with the boys’ shenanigans. Roscoe however lost his best friend. Those boys were inseparable and would constantly play and snuggle together. During my morning bathroom time with Pearl, he was alone as my wife had gone to the gym and was wailing inconsolably. It was so heartbreaking that I let him in early – where he promptly hopped into the tub and wanted to play.
I could barely make breakfast this morning as everything felt wrong. Maynard wasn’t circling my feet like a shark when I opened the cheese bag. He wasn’t hopping up on his stool next to my wife when I set her bowl down and made the clinking noise with her fork, ready to be our “breakfast buddy.” He didn’t hop up next to me and force his way under my arm to sit in my lap as I ate. He didn’t try to climb up our legs in hopes of being picked up for a “group hug” as my wife and I held each other and cried.
Anyhow, it’s getting pretty dusty around here and I need to duct tape my sanity back together.
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