I still can't talk about this in detail, but I know I need to eventually. My little gray cat Zelda died on November 2. She'd been sick for a while, but that Friday was when we found out there was nothing else we could do for her and it was time to let her go. It was devastating. Still is.
Two and a half weeks later, I look for her on the back of the living room couch, or behind the door, or under the rocking chair, or in my dad's office, or on one of the bar stools. I'm disappointed and sad when she isn't there, even though I know she's gone.
I start sobbing at the least expected times.
September and October were really, REALLY hard.
I know it will take time and eventually I won't cry as much, but there is a lot I would give to have her nudge me with her wet cold nose, asking to crawl under the covers and curl up right next to my leg.
