Two years ago today, I had to face--for the first time in my life--the decision to have a beloved pet put down. It had never been in my hands before, and I had never gone in with the animal to see it leave the earth. I still sometimes feel like an absolutely horrible person...but life does move on.
Harley Dude was a Twerp. With the capital T. He attacked houseplants, harassed other cats (but also cuddled them in equal measure--he wasn't all bad). The way he died? He swallowed a sewing needle. I roll my eyes now--believe me, at the time it was awful, and I'm still horrified by it--but it was just such a Harley thing to do. He was the sweetest little moron I've ever known.
Cats do, indeed, leave footprints on our hearts.
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