Category Archives: troubadour
A note from Finn the Cat: I edited this as best I could. He would NOT listen to me about how typing in all caps is shouting. He said, “BUT THAT’S HOW I REALLY TALK!” So I only claim partial responsibility for this ridiculous post by my idiot little brother. — Finn
Song Lyric of the Day:
But they tell me / I’ll be fine / That it will all get better / Just try to write it down / Or put it in a letter / But the words won’t play / And there’s no / Easy way to say / Goodbye, goodbye
Natalie Imbruglia / “Goodbye“
I had to step back for a while, pretty much from everything. On July 26, only 31 days after losing my baby Yum Yum, our sweet, 13-year-old girl Snoops left us, too. I imagine a lot of non-pet owners can sympathize some, but my fellow pet owners know how devastating losing a pet is. And to lose two of my babies only a month apart … I can’t even express it in words. Especially when the two of them were so close — Snoops falling in love with her kitten from the first day she set eyes on him; Yum Yum playfully swatting her on the butt to get her to wrestle; the two of them sleeping, side by side; right up to Snoops’ obvious mourning once Yum Yum was gone, which we watched hasten her decline.
While Rich and I were heartbroken over having to take that final trip to the vet with Snoops, we did what we could to make sure her last afternoon was filled with her family’s love: We called our family, and my parents and sister Vanessa were able to come over to say their goodbyes to her. Snoops responded to that, even raising her head and smiling, which she hadn’t been able to do for a while. So she definitely felt her family’s love, despite all of our tears.
And when that awful time came at the vet’s office later that afternoon, I gave her countless kisses, one for each family member and friend who loved her, and many more just from me and Rich. I think that actually helped a little, really, just a little in the grand scheme of things — but it helped nonetheless — knowing that so many of the people close to us loved her and would miss her, too. But nowhere near as much as we would.
Once home, I cried as I showed Caleb his big sister’s collar, which I had very gently removed from around her neck once she was gone (she would’ve hated feeling naked without it). I think he’d already figured out that she wasn’t coming back, and that was all I could think to do to help him really, truly process it. Because if there was one certainty, it was that Caleb knew his big sister always, always had her collar on.
Rich, Caleb, and I dealt with our grief in our own ways. So did our cat, Belle; having known Snoops since the day I brought her home, and having grown even closer to her dog since Yum Yum’s passing, Belle walked around caterwauling the first few nights, looking for Snoops. Troubadour, being just under six months old at the time and having only been with us for three months, didn’t feel Snoops’ absence the way we did. But, if anything, he ended up helping the rest of us. Because it’s impossible not to laugh and smile when you have a puppy. And in the weeks following her death, when Caleb would sit quietly by himself in a corner, looking as heartbroken and depressed as a dog can look, it was Troubadour who got him playing again.
*My little dog – a heartbeat at my feet. – Edith Warton