Farewell, Sweet Baby

A month ago today, I was forced to face the fact that my cat was gone forever.

I always thought that people were overreacting when they lost their pets. I was wrong. I have never loved any other pet more than I love Sherlock.

The first thing people learn about me is that I love cats. While this love was present before I got Sherlock, it increased exponentially once he came into my life. He was the friendliest, silliest, most loving cat I have ever met, and probably will ever meet. He always had something to say, always did something that would make me laugh, and had the best personality of any animal I've ever owned.

People who claimed to hate cats would come to my house and fall in love with Sherlock. My own boyfriend is allergic to cats and said that all cats were the devil...but Sherlock was the exception. Every negative thought people apply to all cats...Sherlock was always the exception. He never bit, scratched, hissed, growled, spat at, attacked, or was mean to a single person in his entire life. He only wanted to be pet, loved, and to play with his toy mouse.

The day I met him, my older sister and I had gone to pick out two kittens. There were so many. I picked out Gallifrey. He was the runt, and I could already tell that he was sick and wouldn't survive if I didn't take him home with me. Jess picked out a golden-tabby girl. We were about to leave with this tiny bolt of orange fur appeared out of nowhere and started talking up a storm. He meowed and meowed and smiled at us and rubbed on our legs. He stretched out and flopped onto the ground, the way he still did up until the day he disappeared, displaying himself for us so that we would see what a wonderful cat he was.
He came home with us that day. And it was the best decision we ever made.

I loved that cat. Every day, no matter where I was coming home from, the highlight was always remembering that I could walk into my house and call for my honey boy, and he would come running, making that silly chirping noise with his whiskers pointed forward. Everything about him made me happy, and my boyfriend would eventually get tired of me expressing my adoration for every part of Sherlock, from his little bean toes to his soft ears to his fluffy chest. "Whenever he does something, you act like it's the first time he's ever done it and get so excited," Ryne would say, as I cooed over Sherlock flopping down in a patch of sunlight with a squeak.

He was my best friend. A warm, soft, cuddly friend that would lay on my chest when I cried over books. A friend that was there for me every second of every day, no matter when I needed a hug. A friend that entertained me without even trying.

And I miss him. I miss him so much. These past four weeks have been hell. Every day when I come home and he's not here is a painful reminder that there is now a massive hole in my life. Every day I come home and he's not here I feel the same crippling sadness I felt when I realized I had failed to keep him safe. There is nothing worse than knowing that he's out there somewhere, and is cold, hungry, and thinks that I deserted him.
Or there's the worst possible scenario, that I refuse to acknowledge, even now.
Because thinking that he died alone, still waiting for me to come rescue him, is something that I don't think I can ever come to terms with.

And even though I still hope that maybe someday he'll come home, it's come to the point where I need to make peace with what happened and let him go. The sadness was interfering with my daily life and normal functions. I would feel like everything was fine, but still feel the ragged hole in my chest, and I would wonder why I wasn't enjoying how well everything was going. And then I would remember.

Goodbye, Sherlock. I love you. I hope that you knew that, and that I stayed up until three in the morning trying to find you that night because the thought of letting you go made something in me shrivel up and die. And that part of me is still there, festering, and it's time to let that go. I still think about you every day, and your fur is still all over my clothes, even though I've washed them several times since you've been gone. Your pictures are still on my wall, and every time I see them, I think I hear you chirping out in the dining room.

I miss you so much. I love you a bunch.
And I'm sorry I wasn't there for you.
I'm so sorry.
Goodbye, Little Lily. Maybe I'll see you again someday.

" 'He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death’ or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away.'"

Revelations 21:4