I got my first cat when I was two years old, she was just a kitten. We grew up together. I was 15 when she passed away. It was so traumatic for me that I never wanted another cat because I didn't want to go through the heartbreak and depression of losing him or her again. But when I was 17, a curious little boy worked his way into my life. He was stuck in a tree and he was too small to get down on his own, so he just sat up there crying and crying. Long story short, once my step dad decided to go get the ladder from his pick up, the cat decided he was going to jump and he landed right in my best friend's arms. Once I got to hold him he clung to me and my heart melted.
We guessed his age at about 8 or 9 weeks, he was just a little thing, barely old enough to eat solid food. We bonded and I named him Tazz. He was my son, but last November he got sick and his heart was too weak to sustain him any longer. I lost him and he was only five. If I didn't have boyfriend Jesse in my life at that point, I would have absolutely cracked. When Tazz was younger I adopted a female kitten to keep him company while I was at work. So I had her and Jesse to help me keep my sanity.
I rescued another kitty from outside a month after I lost Tazz. She just appeared outside the back door and didn't go away so I took her in. Ginger is a sweety and having her has really helped me. Not so much in "getting over" losing Tazz, but accepting it. I'll never be over losing him or Leah (my first kitty) and I know I'll always have cats. The one thing that gives me comfort is knowing that both Tazz and Leah are at Rainbow Bridge waiting for me.
Evil Black Swan
· Sun Jun 23, 2013 @ 10:41am · 0 Comments