Mom. Get Over It.

Our dog Blaise died July 19, 2012, on my sister's 19th birthday. He'd been getting slower and weaker every day for two years. Toward the end, we had to boost his back legs to get him up the one step into the house. His voice turned to a whisper. But if we skyped Claire, who was in Spain all year, Blaise would sit up and woof softly at the sound of her voice. We had to leave him behind in the big dog pen with Bailey, his sister, when we drove to the airport to get Claire on July 18. We came home to find him looking dead. He lifted his head for Claire and wagged but couldn't stand and walk to her. We kept him inside all night even though he lost control of all bodily fluids, and into the next day. He couldn't do anything but swallow ice and hang on, and on, as if to say, "I'm not leaving you. I can't bark or eat or drink or get up, but so long as you are here with me, I will never die. I am your loyal Blaise. I am here for you." We  drove him to the vet...and Mom told Blaise it was okay to go. We'd somehow manage. And we did. Somehow. Even Bailey seems okay without her brother. But Mom keeps going to the animal shelter and looking at cats. She hates cats. And yet she keeps falling in love with big, gentle, calm, long-haired cats who somehow remind her of Blaise. But no one will ever replace Blaise. Yes, Mom, there are so many, many other furry creatures out there who need love and a warm lap. But we have Bobinski. Without my little kitty, it would have been so much harder for me to lose Blaise. Cats live 14 to 20 years. Blaise didn't make it to his 12th birthday. We had a lot of good years but 12 wasn't enough. Bobinksi had better live to age 20, at least. Try being happy with the cat we have, Mom, and stop going to the pound.

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