If you follow me on any form of social media you've been introduced to my tuxedo cat, Sylvester.
You remember him, I'm sure. Very spoiled, very loving cat who knew he was the favorite and basked in it. His favorite form of address: "handsome cat," spoken in the highest vocal range possible with a touch of British accent. (What I won't do for my pets...)
Even if he got rather annoyed by my constant selfies and photo ops. But, how could you not when you have such a handsome animal?
The worst part was I wasn't there. I was supposed to return home the same day he died, but had changed my plans the day before and cancelled my train ticket. My mum, who was taking care of him, called to tell me he wouldn't make it and could she put him on the phone so I could tell him it was okay to let go?
Initially, I thought "oh, now I'm calling my...cat," but said yes. There was a pause and I assumed she had put the phone up against Sylvester's ear. I took a deep breath. "Hey buddy, it's me. Look, I can't make it home... (this is when the tears started) It's okay though. You can let go now. I love you, handsome. I'll see you...soon."
My mum got on after and said he began to purr. A few hours later she texted me to say he had died.
The hardest part was that last goodbye. After that all I felt was that dull ache that occurs when you've lost someone special. He was sixteen, and he had been my cat since he was a little, entitled kitten.
There's no way to completely recover from a pet's death. But sometimes a distraction can jolt you out of the grieving process.
Even an eight week old kitten.
I had to work on Saturday, and when I met up with my family to go to a cookout, Susie came running up to me. "Guess what! We found a kitten on the bridge!"
"Really??"
She clapped her hands over her mouth. "Oops, I wasn't supposed to say that."
She probably expected me to ask a million questions about the new kitten. Instead I said something along the lines of, "You're kidding, right?"
I didn't want to replace Sylvester. I didn't even want to think about getting another kitten. But when I first saw Bella, my heart melted.
I mean, it would be impossible not to, right?
Bella is eight weeks old, the tiniest kitten I've had in years. And is the cutest little thing I've even seen.
Did I mention she's tiny?
I even got obsessed enough to make her an Instagram page (fine, I said it), @Bella.Baby.Kitten.
So even though I still miss my Ruckie, and he will always be first and foremost my handsome cat, this baby girl is quickly stealing my heart.
Even if she has about as much enthusiasm for selfies as Sylvester...
Cheers and love from Bella and me,
Victoria
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