Grieving Ghost

©2021 Michael Raven

I probably should show a bit of decorum here (not that I’ve done a good job of it in the past) but, tonight, I’m having the very sudden realization that I’m still fucking gutted about Ghost dying on the surgery table with my hand holding his head. Holding his head while they had to euthanize his too-young body for a fucking reaction to anesthetic medicine so he could his nuts trimmed off.

It’s not fucking fair. Not fucking fair at all — he was an awesome goddamn kitten. Why him and not the 11-year old pain in the fucking ass cat who takes grumpy nips at the daughters without warning and mews for no reason other than he feels the urge to be obnoxious, when he got his rotten teeth removed? Riddle me that.

He was a damn good cat, Ghost was. A damn fine cat.

I miss him tonight. I miss having him jump on my shoulder and watch what I was doing. I miss giving him treats to teach him how to high five. I miss the ninja cuddles he gave without warning, leaping into your lap as if it was the best place to be, ever.

I perceive it as a personal affront, whatever fate path treated him like trash. And I never got to grieve him because I was too busy being there for everyone else who wanted to grieve him.

Tonight, there’s no one looking to me to make it all better for once and I realize I finally can be mad and sad and upset about the whole goddamn affair. No one to turn to, but hey — that seems to be my lot as well.

I don’t know if I want to smash walls or curl up and cry tonight. It only took three and a half weeks for me to finally get my turn, so bear with me on this post.

You would cry too if you knew.

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