good bye sweetie

Pig Pen: Goodbye sweetie.
Death sucks. I know it’s inevitable but damnit, Pig Pen was three and a half weeks old. She didn’t even have a chance to play with a fucking toy.

Yesterday I took a break at work to write a quick post to update you on alll the cute things Piggy was doing. The way she’d walk with the new-kitten-legs over to you, crawl up your pants leg into your lap and dig her oversixed kitty head into whatever crevis she could find. Or how she’d muster up every fiber in her being in an attempt to bat a kitty toy three times her size- pushing herself to the ground in the process. Or the way she look up at me with those big blue eyes while I was sitting on the toilet in the morning. Or how she’d curl up in our laps or under a stack of sofa pillows for an hour or so, sound asleep. I never posted it because I didn’t get around to finishing it. I left it in a text file on my desk top, the icon sitting just below the picture of her I was using as my wallpaper. The same picture I replaced with the first graphic I saw when I got in this morning – some random GIF from the Yahoo! Mail website. I just couldn’t look at her looking at me like that. I had to leave work because, as I walked through the halls of the hospital, the sqeaking of opening and closing doors all sounded like her, crying from the bathroom while I prepared her food. I know we did the best we could, I guess I’m going through one of those the grief stages. Could I have done more? The vet said her temperature was 99.6 (normal is 104 I think.) Should I have left the ceiling heater on last night? I turned it on for minute, thinking she may be a little cold, but turned it off after it starting to stink. Something told me, even though it wasn’t cold in the room or anything, to turn it on. This is going to be hard, me thinks. The vet said it was the infection, it wasn’t the room, and that we did more than most people would have done… Sometimes love just isn’t enough I guess.

I just hope whoever left Piggy in that parking lot reads this one day.

Life isn’t disposable.

I’m going to curl up in bed with Plato and cry now.