I felt a bit silly crying at the veterinarian’s this morning, when we brought Mosey to be put to sleep. I am a grown man, with a wife and sons. I have bigger concerns than a cat. Still, we do love our animals, and for good reason. They are faithful and constant companions. They are uncomplicated comfort in a world of stress and complications. They are beautiful little souls.
I stopped feeling silly because the people at the veterinarian’s office were so kind, and he was so ready. He has been declining steadily for months, and we had kept him comfortable and as healthy as we could. He was lively at times, was eating well, and seemed to be free of pain. Then he started to falter, and by yesterday it was time. He couldn’t get up easily, couldn’t stay on his feet, and finally stopped eating.
I didn’t stay for the whole thing. I never have and probably never will. I watched him until he was sedated, and we said our goodbyes.I was glad Michele drove us home.
I also stopped feeling silly because the simple facts of Mosey’s life bind him to me. I have had thirteen pets–nine cats and four dogs–but none for as long as Mosey. At 18 years, Mosey lived for nearly a third of my life, and more than half of what I think of as my adult life. We got him when the boys were four and six and now they are young men. He was older than my youngest nephew. He was named for Mo Vaughn, still one of my favorite players of all time. He was a loving, affectionate cat. And my goodness was he handsome.
So I will feel silly for a while. I will miss Mo, my good cat, my happy little warrior.