Tacitus tells a tale that many pet owners can relate to.

My mother has 4 cats. Recently, she adopted a fifth: Penny, a tiny little spit of a Maine Coon female. Penny had been abandoned in my mom's neighborhood, but had been fortunate enough to stumble onto my mother's deck. My mom fed her and took her in. The first visit to the veternarian's office provided the same bit of information that Tacitus had: Penny had an irregular heartbear, a 5 on a scale of 10. The vet said that she might live 15 years if her luck held. It was about twice 15 days. My mom left in the morning, with Penny sitting up in the window sill, watching my mom's car drive away. When she arrived home that afternoon, my mother found Penny dead, stretched out in her window seat. The short time together didn't matter. What did matter was the impact that my mother and Penny had on each other.

I have no words of comfort to offer; they'd fall flat and wouldn't convey how sorry I am for Tacitus. All I can say is that it's five years that he'll always remember fondly, because friends have a way of making things better.

Rest in peace, Oscar.

Posted by: Physics Geek at 12:10 AM | No Comments | Add Comment
Post contains 220 words, total size 1 kb.