It’s never easy saying good-bye, especially when it’s to a beloved pet. My beautiful calico fur baby, Chloe, took her last breath a few weeks ago. She let me know that it was time to go. I won’t go into the details. Suffice it to say that she left a deep paw print on my heart.
Chloe was my morning alarm, my coffee companion – expecting a treat every time I entered the kitchen to heat a cold cup of coffee, and my bedtime nag – not liking me staying up to write when daddy had already gone to bed. She was a constant in my life for nineteen years, outliving Duchess and Lucky, two cats she tolerated. Chloe didn’t want to share her home with another. She defended our home from any unfortunate stray or barn cat who came by to explore the gardens around our house. She was tough. My fur baby could fight, and she could bite. And when she wanted to, Chloe would lie on my chest and demand attention for what felt like too short a moment.
I don’t think cats are affectionate. They only tolerate us for their benefit. They let us assume that we matter to them when they know they matter more to us. Cats allow us to believe that they are domesticated, when in fact they are still wild. They are great at playing. We know that if we’ve ever seen them play with a mouse or bird they have caught.
Chloe caught my heart, and she played with it until the very end. Her paws are still wrapped around it, forever in her grasp.