Coda

The day Owen moved out, I came home from helping him move and Coda was sitting on the newel post, meowing at me. I told him it was just us now. I had to keep going because he still needed his breathtakingly expensive cat food. The litter still had to be changed.

We had this routine around breakfast. Coda became a slow and picky eater. I would feed his brothers and then he and I would head into the living room. He would eat a bit, he would go to the bathroom, he might come and visit, then he would eat some more, then he would come and sit with me a bit longer. He would stretch out on my leg and purr.

And I would sing to him.

“In the morning when I rise, you bring a tear of joy to my eyes and tell me everything’s gonna be all right”.

Which is what I sang him as the vet put him to sleep. With my voice breaking, tears falling on his fur. I was the last voice he heard.

Which is as it should be. This is the last gift of fealty I give my pets, this moment where I walk with them to the very end, my voice telling them they are loved. Not were loved, but are.

Somewhere in this great universe of ours, there is a place where our animals go. Filled with sunshine and soft blankets and cocktail shrimp.

And if I am very good, at the end of my life I will go there too.

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5 Responses to Coda

  1. Reese says:

    We lost our dog last August after almost 15 years together. It’s so hard.

    Hugs.

  2. Dipitie says:

    I’m so sorry for your loss. Yes, we should be the last face they see, the last voice they hear, the last caress they feel. It’s the least we can do in return for all the love and happiness they give us <3

  3. a says:

    I’m sorry for your loss…

  4. chris says:

    I am so so sorry.

  5. loribeth says:

    Sending (((hugs))). I am so sorry. 🙁

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