We had to put our sweet old orange tabby, Sunny, to sleep on January 14. It broke my heart to do so (and don’t think Robert wasn’t equally crushed. We both cried not only in the vet’s office, but in the car on the way home, and for days afterward). And it’s been a month. And … I still miss him so. I feel his presence everywhere in the house. Sunny was the last thing I saw when I went to sleep at night and the first thing I saw when I woke up in the morning. I miss him most when I’m coming home from work at night. He’s buried behind the big garage and when I walk by, I always stop and whisper “I love you, big fat honey” while I choke back tears. On beautiful sunny days, I am reminded how he loved being outside in the back yard, sniffing things, rubbing his cheek up against the corner of the back garage, exploring under my watchful eye things we cannot see, hear or smell but they can. I miss tripping over him on the way to the kitchen, the way he always ran to greet me when I came home from work, the way he’d chirp at me when my foot touched him inadvertently (or sometimes, deliberately because I wanted to know, in the middle of the night, if he was there with me in the bed). There is a hole in my heart no one and nothing can ever fill.
Until one has loved an animal, one’s soul remains unwakened.