My beautiful girl, Ginger, passed over the rainbow bridge today. She had bladder cancer. She was 15. We had her twelve years. When we adopted her in 2007, she was crabby and cantankerous and lashed out at everybody. My hubby worked hard to make her the sweet, loving baby she became. I miss her so much already.
Saying goodbye to pets is always horrible. Unexpectedly, my wonderful hubby was there with me. The timing worked out in my favor. His big truck went in for repair midweek, and he was at the dispatch terminal forty-five minutes away. He is truly a wonderful man. He drove home to be at the vet with me and my youngest son when we took Ginger in. That meant so much to me. Not only was he a strong shoulder to lean on, but he was there to help me decide what to do. Letting the cat go wasn’t a decision I had to make alone.
Ginger was just as much my husband’s cat as mine. When we got her she was terrified and she was not a nice cat. He was the only one who never gave up on her. He’d pick her up over and over, she’d snarl and lash out. He’d talk to her and hold her and pet her. He was the one who broke through her fear and distrust. He held her as she died. I thought that was fitting.
She was always on my lap in my chair or by my side in bed. When healthy she topped out at seven and a half pounds. For such a tiny cat, she had a big, bold personality. She didn’t back down from anything. She was also sweet and gentle underneath her grumpy exterior. For such a tiny cat, she’s sure left a big, empty space behind her.
I miss you, beautiful friend.