Wednesday Morning

Apparently, when a 100-year-old sidewalk is to be demolished, the work must take place at 7 a.m. And then, as a final criterion, the occupant adjacent to said sidewalk has to have gone to bed no earlier than 2 a.m.

With no hope of going back to sleep (and it being a beautiful, clear winter day), I went out for a macchiato and a drive up to The Point.

Guilt

"Guilt is the very nerve of sorrow."

~Horace Bushnell

Letter From My Father

Pam --
 
Let me add my condolences on the passing of The Old One, even
as I commend you for your thoughtful and well-written
commentary.

 There is nothing like the death of one we hold dear to bring us face
to face with the great mystery of existence. It matters not a whit
that the departed is an animal of the human variety or of some
other (perhaps nobler) kind. It was Jesus himself who said, two
thousand years ago, that the Father in Heaven takes account of
each sparrow that falls to the ground. (Animal-rights activists
should take note of this ancient testimony.) I'm sure that his
observation applies to cats as well.
 
I appreciate the words by Gibran that you appended to your own.
They remind me of the truism stated years ago by a Nobel
Prize-winning economist and philosopher named Herbert Simon.
Simon argued that we never know the full essence of a system until
it fails. The physical system of Pam and Boots has failed, but like an
egg shell it has fallen away to reveal the abiding essence of the
relationship within. That essence now stands in place of Boots,
and it will persist as long as you do.
 

I love you dearly,
 
Dad

In with Luck, Out with Love

My best friend was born on Saint Patrick's Day in 1987. He was born under a house to a Siamese mother and a philandering father. A little black puff-ball, with white paws, a white chest, and a peculiar little white goatee - I picked him from the litter. My mother wanted to name him Boots *cringe* so badly, that I gave in. However, he collected so many nicknames over the years, people probably wondered what his real name was! Boots, Biggie Smalls, Monk, Matty the Pear, Papa...no matter the name, he was my little guy.

Boots endured 11 moves with me. He also saw me through the biggest and hardest changes in my life: graduation from high school and college, living with a roommate who also had a cat (whom Boots tolerated slightly), the end of the most significant relationship of my life, the loss of my mother, and all the various other heartaches that make up this thing we call life. He also was there through the happiest times. And now, looking back, I see that he alone provided much of that happiness over the years, so much so that I sit here now, empty and incomplete.

The last full day I spent with Boots was Valentine's Day, just yesterday. I thought that yesterday was "the day", even took him to the vet, but I knew that neither of us was ready - I took him home. I slept with him on the floor last night, my hand on him almost all night. This morning, I woke and saw that he was still in pain. Many times I made him promise me that he would let me know when he was ready to go, and I, in turn, promised to not hesitate to let that happen. This morning, I realized that he was keeping his promise, but I was assuredly breaking mine. It was time.

My best friend left this world today. I held him in my arms, told him I loved him, and thanked him for the almost 22 years of love and friendship he unconditionally gave me day after day.
I am so grateful that I was able to hold him during his final transition, as I was there when he first opened his eyes to the world.

Goodbye, friend. I am so blessed to have known you. I will miss you more than you could ever know.

Ever has it been that love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation.

~Kahlil Gibran