This weekend, Saturday the 2nd, the vet made a housecall for my beloved Molly. I was glad to do it at home, just as I'd done for her 9 year old kitty companion Smokey, last year May 15th. But it hurts so incredibly deeply, hearing the apartment settle and thinking, half asleep, that it's her little steps creaking the floorboards as she comes over to wake me up. Or looking at her empty cat tree, or the window she always waited in to yell at me from when I got home from work. She's been the most affectionate cat I've ever had in my life, and always followed me from room to room, whining for cuddles. When I'd lie down on the couch, she'd tuck herself into my arm and curl up, purring nonstop, content to just sit and snuggle for hours. But now my apartment is so quiet, and she isn't behind me when I turn to look for her, and my arms are so empty.
Losing my girl Smokey last year was horrible. The first cat I'd ever had as an adult, and the first cat whose death I had to handle on my own. But I had Molly then to distract me and help keep me from spiralling. Now, with only me here, I'm more devastated than I've been in a long, long time.
I took the day off work today. I didn't want to cry in front of my students. I go back tomorrow, and the vet will call on Friday when her ashes are ready to come home. She was only 11, and I know that's already senior for cats, but it never ever feels like enough. I wanted more time. I miss her so much.