Goodbye Lord Stanley

We knew it was coming...we knew we would have to say goodbye.

For almost 2 years now, I have wanted another kitten. I preferred all grey, long hair, male. I desired to

get him while he was very young and so he would be attached to me. After 6 weeks of looking, he came to us.

My neighbor knocked on my door saying that she heard that

I wanted a kitten. She told me she had two litters. I had my pick. There was Stanley, Lord Stanley. It was like someone knew of the characteristics I wanted in a kitten. Over affectionate, and always looking for me.

He was sick when we picked him up, some cold virus, easily solved.

Then, he was really sick. Of course it was midnight. He had episode after episode. We took him in the next morning and they gave us something to try.

We thought it was working.

His seizures got worse for a day or two and then he did great for 4 or 5 days, and the cycle continued.

We did what we could.

We took him in again and ended up doing a week of 3 different meds, plus they ran a test.

Today, we decided we couldn't do anymore.

It is just a kitten, but now, there is so much invested. Bottle feeding him for the first 2 weeks, nursing him to what we thought was, back to health. Cuddling, playing, cleaning him.

Today, I lost something. I lost something I desired for a few years. I lost something that my heart was attached to. I lost this little furry guy that I picked out to sit with me when I was sad. Here I sit alone.

At 7:25 this morning, I told Lucas what was going to have to take place. I asked if he wanted to say goodbye.

He did.

We sat down next to Stanley's kennel that has been his temporary home. The floor is dirty because it is next to the back door where muddied shoes are cleaned from little boy feet.

Lucas kneels down and looks through the cross bars. Stanley looks back, seeming more alert than he had been. Stanley walks over and rubs his head against Lucas' finger.

Lucas says goodbye and sits back next to my crossed legs. I scoop him up onto my lap and his tears flow.

Mine flow harder.

Lucas does so well, knowing he has to accept it. It isn't fun, it isn't pretty, he says things like, "I wish Stanley wasn't sick." All I can say is, "I know, me too."

Lucas' big blue eyes are surrounded by long, wet lashes. You can see the pain. I rest my chin on his head and we sway. Lucas is letting me cradle him as we both cry.

Everything in me wants to take his hurt away. I know the place he aches and I want to soothe it. I want to say things like, "Don't worry, we will get another kitten someday soon," or take him off topic and mention there are only a few days left of school.

But I don't.

We sit in it, we sit in the pain. It hurts so bad, but it is so healthy.

We let it sink into our bones. We both feel the waves of emotions and they burst forth in tears and vocal cries. The air is heavy, we carry the full weight of this new grief.

We talk about how fun Stanley has been and how sweet of a kitten he is. It makes it hurt worse, but it is, healthy.

I don't fix it. I can't. I don't change the topic, I don't feed him candy, I don't promise him fun.

There we sit on the dirty floor, looking out the dirty window on a horribly dark, raining morning. It is sad, and it hurts our souls. I pull him closer.

Lucas has tears and snot on his sleeve. Like Mother, like Son.

Bless his little heart.

He makes the move to stand up and as he stands he says one last time, "goodbye, Stanley."