Nothing ever really prepares you to say goodbye to a little furry friend …When I moved here almost ten years ago now, having just been divorced, I was struggling when the kids left to spend time at the other house. It was a very challenging and lonely time. So I rescued a kitty. She was an adult cat at a kitten rescue, having been brought in because she had a litter of kittens. But her kittens had all been adopted, and she was left behind. It seems no one wanted an adult cat at a kitten rescue. I saw her and instantly fell in love.
We both needed a friend.
She was, no exaggeration, the sweetest cat I’ve ever met. She often didn’t even meow out loud, just opened her mouth in a breathless motion with her expressive eyes doing most of the communicating. There were many nights she sat with me and was a silent and comforting presence by my side. She even purred when I had to use clippers on her fur once; she just didn’t have a mean bone in her body.
Unfortunately for my dog, this didn’t translate to her. Despite trying to make friends with Savannah since 2018, her efforts were always rebuffed in great style, much to Lexie’s chagrin.
For the last few months we’ve noticed her fading. It wasn’t anything we could fix, unfortunately. Old age is hard to watch when our pets are slowly claimed by time. It came for her as silently as her voice often was, and she passed during her sleep last Saturday night. I found her yesterday morning.
So while many people were prepping their Superbowl feasts, I was running a hose and slamming an ice chipper down onto frozen ground, the solid thud hiding the sound of my tears. Somehow I unfroze the dirt, and dug her resting spot. We had a beautiful ceremony as we laid her to rest.
Now my little friend isn’t by my side. I’ll miss the way she would scare the dog away from any food treats she wanted for herself. I’ll miss her sitting right by my head on my pillow. I’ll miss her looking out the window from her perch, greeting me though the screen when I was in the backyard.
I’ll miss her.
As I was preparing to write the words to say goodbye to my kitty, I was struck by the fact that I wrote “ten years.” Has it really been ten years since we moved here? Has it really been ten years since I rescued her? And then as I started looking through photographs of my sweet cat, I stopped and took a long look at the little kids in the pictures. And that’s when it hit me: I don’t have little kids in my house anymore. I watched videos of my children playing with Savannah, singing songs, running around and screaming … Those noises don’t echo through my house now.
The little girl who played Barbies with me and caught frogs is now a young woman who lives on her own and visits. The little boys who created more sound effects than I thought could exist are now young men and older teenagers, all towering over me. I’m fiercely proud of every single one of them, and love watching them craft their own paths and lives.
But I certainly wouldn’t argue with one more game of hide and seek, one more Barbie tea party, one more caught frog, one more evening of children playing.
I wouldn’t argue with another moment to cuddle my little kitty, who brought healing to my heart when it was badly bruised and comfort to my children who needed to process their new realities.
Good night, Savannah, and thank you for being the friend we all needed.
