One morning a few years ago, Anne walked out into our garage to put some towels or something into the dryer. I heard the door close, and a minute of so later, she called out to me, “Wil? Can you come in here? Quickly?”
There was a tiny bit of urgency in her voice, so I jumped up from the couch, ran through the kitchen, across the breezeway, and into the garage. She stood next to the dryer, a pile of wet clothes in her hands.
“Is everything okay?” I said.
“Shh!” She said, and pointed to the middle of the garage. “Listen!”
I did, and after a few moments, I heard a very soft meowing. Both of my cats were indoor cats, so I called out, “Biko? Sketch?”
I turned to Anne. “How did they get out of the house?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know, but —”
A sleek black cat came walking out from beneath one of several piles of crap we have out there (putting a car into our garage is about as likely as one of us building a rocket in the backyard and colonizing the moon). He had bright yellow/green eyes, a white star on his chest, and little white “socks” on his front paws. He had no tail.
“Hey, Kitty!” Anne said, “what are you doing in my garage?”
She shoved the clothes into the dryer, and crouched down on the floor. The cat began purring loudly as he walked over to her. She extended her hand and he rubbed his little face up against it.
“You are such a little Bear!” She said, as she scratched his ears.
I’ve seen this from her before: she was in love. She looked up at me, like a child. “Can we keep him?”
“We already have two cats, Anne,” I said, “and what if someone misses him?”
“We’ll wait a week, and look for signs around the neighborhood. If we don’t find signs, and he’s still here, we’ll take him to the vet and make sure he’s healthy.”
I’ve also seen this from her before: her mind was made up.
For the next week, he stayed on our patio, and we looked for signs in our neighborhood. We called local shelters. pet stores, and vets and asked if anyone had reported a missing kitty. Nobody had. As far as we could tell, this kitty had just shown up out of thin air; if anyone missed him, they weren’t being very vocal about it.
The first few days of that week, I tried not to get too attached to him, but whenever I walked out onto the patio, he’d talk to me a bunch. If I got close to him, he’d start to purr and rub up against my legs. He was so affectionate, it took about three days for my him to win me over. I started counting down to the seventh day, when we would take him to the vet and know for sure if he could officially become a member of our family.
At the end of the week, we took him to the vet and had him checked for diseases and stuff.
“What’s his name?” The receptionist asked us.
Anne and I looked at each other. Over the week, we had both loved this little guy a lot, but we’d never thought to name him.
“Oscar?” I said.
She smiled and shook her head. “No.” She turned to the receptionist and said, “His name is Felix.”
“Yeah!” I said, “Felix the cat!”
While we were there, we saw a picture on the wall of a cat that looked just like him, and we found out that he was a special breed called a Japanese Bobtail. Over the next few years, this would lead to us calling him “Stumpy,” and referring to his activity as “just stumpin’ around in the yard.” His blood work came back the following day: he was free from all diseases, but his kidney levels were a little high — probably the result of him being just a little dehydrated. We know now that it was much worse, but at the time we were blissfully ignorant, and the Wheaton household grew by one.
We brought him home, and introduced him to our cats. Biko was indifferent, but Sketch cranked at him right away. Ever since he was a kitten, Sketch has been a daddy’s — then (and now) a momma’s — boy. He didn’t like that there was a new kitty in our house who would be siphoning away some of the attention and affection. For the next week or so, there was a lot of peeing on the furniture, but eventually, Biko and Sketch accepted that this new kitty wasn’t going to leave, and his arrival didn’t diminish our love for them.
Felix loved us, but always on his terms. There’s a saying, “Dogs have masters. Cats have staff” and so it was with Felix. He was always affectionate, but he made it clear that he wasn’t our cat: we were his people. We didn’t mind at all.
A few years passed, and Felix brought all kinds of joy into our lives. He had his “rotation,” where he’d sleep on Ryan’s bed for a week or so, then Nolan’s, then with me and Anne. Even though he was just a cat, when he chose to put you on his rotation, you couldn’t help but feel special. Chosen.
We learned quickly that Felix didn’t take any shit from anyone, especially other cats. In the first year that we were his people, he went to the vet several times for shots and stitches after fights with other neighborhood cats. When he went outside, Anne and I started telling him, “Watch for cars, and don’t get into any fights!” He rarely listened, but he was an incredibly tough little guy who earned his nickname “The Bear,” and as far as we know, he never lost a single fight.
About two years ago, we noticed that he spent a couple of days acting a little strange. He didn’t want to be cuddled, he wouldn’t eat very much, and he just looked like he didn’t feel well. We figured it was the result of his latest fight, so Anne took him to the vet for more antibiotics. When she came home, her eyes were red and her cheeks were shiny with tears.
“What’s wrong?” I said.
“The vet said that Felix doesn’t feel well because he’s having kidney failure. He could die within a month.” She collapsed onto our bed and sobbed. I did my best to comfort her, while I processed the shock of the news.
“Is there anything we can do?” I said.
“We may be able to give him special food and fluids, but —”
“Then that’s what we’ll do,” I said. And we did. We gave him some fluids every morning, put him onto special food, and gave him a little extra love. Within a couple of days, The Bear was stumpin’ around the yard, chasing birds across the grass, and curling up in our laps whenever we sat on the couch. His sleeping rotation put him into our room, and I fell asleep for many nights listening to his soft purring.
The rest of that year, he had ups and downs. One terrifying weekend Felix was rushed to the emergency vet because the gardener sprayed weed killer in our front yard — which I’d specifically told him not to do — and Felix had walked through it. During that stay at the vet’s, I visited him often. WWdN readers were really supportive of Anne and me, and I blogged a “note” from The Bear:
“Hi. ThiS iS FELix. My Mom AND Dad ToLD mE HoW MUCh WWDN ReADerS SupPoRteD ThEM whiLe I wAs SiCK, aND i WaNT to sAY ThANK you. ThEy LovE ME A loT AnD I KnOW THIS Was hard FoR thEM.”
During that stay, we found out that his kidney disease had progressed more rapidly than we expected. He was up to about 85% failure, and he was starting to become anemic. He had lost a bunch of weight, and was down to about 11 pounds. Again, we made mental preparations for the worst, and again Felix surprised us all by bouncing right back to life.
A few weeks ago, Felix started to look and act like he felt icky, so we took him to the vet yet again. This came on the heels of my cat Sketch’s near-death experience, so my nerves were pretty frayed. “I wish I could get frequent flier miles here,” I joked to the receptionist for the hundredth time. She politely pretended that I wasn’t the most annoying pet owner in the world.
We ran some tests on him, and the results confirmed our worst fears: his kidneys were almost completely destroyed, and he had developed such a severe case of anemia his body wasn’t able to get any nutrition out of his food. He was, quite literally, wasting away.
It was clear that if we didn’t do anything, he was going to die within a few days. We talked it over with our vet, and she told us that our options were to put Felix to sleep, or give him Epogen injections three times a week, sub-q fluids twice a day, liquid vitamins and an aluminum hydroxyde suspension each morning. It seemed like an awful lot of stuff to do, but Anne and I talked about it, and tried to figure out what was best for Felix, we would not prolong his life simply because we didn’t want to say goodbye . . . but if we could help him feel better, and have good quality of life, then we would do whatever we could afford to do. We talked it over with his vet, and decided that we’d try this out for two weeks.
“What are the odds of him bouncing back?” I asked his vet.
“If it was any other cat, I’d say very slim,” she said, “but Felix is one of the toughest kitties I’ve ever seen. Honestly, his kidney values are so high, any other kitty would have died by now.”
“Is there anything we should watch for?”
She told us what I’ve heard from hundreds of WWdN readers: “Your cat will let you know if he’s ready to go, or if he wants to stick around and try to feel better.”
That was two weeks ago. For the first week, Felix perked up, but he didn’t bounce back the way he always had before. He stopped being reclusive, but he wasn’t as affectionate as he’d always been. I hoped against hope that he’d miraculously recover, like he always did, but it just wasn’t happening. I realized that I was watching him die.
A few nights ago, I sat in my dining room and read my book. I felt something brush up against my leg. I looked down and saw The Bear. He was so skinny (just over six pounds) his spine stood up on his back like Mr. Burns.
“How are you feeling, The Bear?” I said.
He let out a slow and quiet meow, and walked into the living room. He wavered when he walked, like he was unsteady, or uncomfortable, or both. When he was about fifteen feet away from me, he stopped, crouched down on the floor, and flicked his little stump.
“Your cat will let you know if he’s ready to go . . .”
I got up from the table and walked over to him. I felt a lump rising in my throat as I got down next to him on the floor.
“Are you done?” I said.
He flicked his stump, and looked up at me. His eyes looked a little cloudy; his third eyelid was closed about a third of the way.
“Okay, Felix. Okay.” I scratched his little bony head. He purred weakly and tightly shut his eyes.
I knew this moment would come, and I hoped that I’d be prepared to face it, but I wasn’t. Huge sobs shook my body. Giant tears fell off my face and ran down my nose.
Ferris cautiously walked over to me from the kitchen. She stopped about three feet from me, sat down, and cocked her head to one side.
“Felix is dying, Ferris,” I said. “I’m okay. I’m just sad.”
She sighed, and laid down on the floor with her head between her paws. She watched me while I sat there and cried.
Later that night, Anne and I had The Talk. We decided that we’ve done all that we can to help him, but it’s just not enough. He’s not really living now . . . he’s just staying alive. We promised each other, and we promised Felix, that we wouldn’t keep him alive just because we didn’t want to say goodbye. Yesterday morning, I called the vet and had The Talk with her. We made an appointment to bring Felix in tomorrow morning.
I know I’m doing the right thing, but that doesn’t make it any easier. As I’ve written this today (and it’s taken most of the day to write — I’ve had to stop writing this several times just to get a grip on myself.) I have realized that Felix hasn’t been The Bear for a long time.
I will miss seeing him stand up and stretch himself out on the trunk of Anne’s car, before he jumps down onto the driveway and greets me when I open my car door. I will miss him jumping up into my car, and talking to me while he walks around and explores the passenger compartment. I will miss watching him sit in the grass and torment the squirrel in the tree next door. I will miss watching him stump around in the backyard. But most of all, I will miss being on his rotation. Even when he decided that four in the morning was when he needed to go outside, and the best way to accomplish that was to run across our heads until one of us woke up and let him out.
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Hi Wil —
I’m so sorry for your and your family’s loss. My Merlyn had the same problem and deciding when he was through fighting was the hardest thing I will EVER, ever do, barring nothing. I hope the pain eases, and you can remember the good times soon, knowing you let your Bear live his life his way, and helped him pass gently on to the next.
Blessings, and know a candle is lit for the Bear’s gallant spirit.
I’m so sorry for your loss. You wrote about Felix so vividly it was as if I’d met him.
We have an epileptic chihuahua – he’s in a period of “seizure remission” right now – but we went through a period when he was cluster-seizing and we came within moments of having to make the decision you’ve just done. I hope when the time comes to have to make that decision again, we’ll be able to do it with as much grace and love as you have demonstrated.
Be well.
Wil,
I was sorry to read about Felix’s passing. It’s especially poignant, because my husband and I had to let our special little cat, Floyd, go on Monday. He, too, had been dealing with kidney issues. In the last few days, it hasn’t seemed as if we are living in the same house as before. Despite having our other affectionate kitty, Mowgli, this place feels hollow somehow. There is definitely a void that was once filled by Floyd (rhyme not intended). We’ll all be able to get back to some sense of normalcy, but I hope we never forget how much our cats meant to us. I hope your boys are dealing with this okay.
Please accept my sincere condolences on your loss. I have four cats of my own and the thought of losing them tears my heart out.
May your sweet cat rest in peace.
We all raise a toast to Felix. Much love to you, Anne and the kids in this heartbreaking time.
I am so sorry Wil.
My husband just got home and I had the picture of Felix up on fullscreen. He said to me, “What’s that? It looks like Mickey.” And Felix does indeed look like our own Mickey.
Beautiful boy. I’m sorry you and your wife had to make such a hard choice. So very sorry.
Anne/Wil,
Just wanted to say that you are in our thoughts.
Something my Grandfather once told me – find a song that reminds you of someone and you will never forget why they meant so much to you.
Whenever you hear it, you will instantly remember all of the good things about your friend.
The same thing applies here I think.
Wil,
So sorry to hear about Felix. I began crying while I was reading your post today. I have a sixteen-year-old cat, and I am already having a hard time thinking about when his time comes… But I’m sure Felix was very happy that you and your family were the ones to take care of him for the rest of his life, and he sure won’t be forgotten.
Wil,
That was one of the saddest things I’ve ever read because our cat, Blackie, was so similar. He came into our lives as a stray and stayed (with THREE DOGS to boot).
He has not passed on yet but he had feline crystals and had the “change” (he’s no longer a he or a she) and we worry about him daily (now an indoor cat, with no claws and no balls) but reading your post just brought tears to my eyes.
Thank you for sharing.
Andrew
Man
Your comment choked me up. Especially tonight. My wife and I were listening to some music on my laptop (Wing – I followed the link from Boing Boing) anyway, she looks over and sees a spot of blood on the coffee table.
Right next to Mulligan, one of our two cats.
We check out Mulligan and he’s bleeding from the rectum. I panic. She panics. We clean him up and he seems ok (I rilly rilly hope it was just some little bit of something he didn’t digest properly). But I called the vet and made an apointment just to make sure.
Man, he’s got me scared. He’s as much a part of my life as the best friends I’ve got – him and Max and whatshername – oh, yeah, Mell, my wife (joking).
Wil, man, my heart goes out to you. I can’t know what you’re going through but it’s gotta be tough.
Seeya, Felix. You were good to them.
Oh damn, Wil. Im so sorry. I know theres not a whole lot I can say right now. I understand, I remember my heart breaking as I watched Mike, who was my familiar, grow weaker a few years back. We finally had to put him down and I was never able to mourn him properly. I had to be at camp the next day, putting on a happy font for a hundred kids. I was crushed by the blow, my best friend sense I was five was gone.
Mikey was a tux, similar to your Bear (he’ll always be The Bear), and he was dearly loved, and is dearly missed.
If/When you read this, know that I’ll send positive energies your way, and you and your family (two and four-legged, and whoever else) will be in my thoughts
*megahugs*
Til the time comes when we are reunited on the Rainbow Bridge
umm…sorry bout the triplepost. my browser hates me.
I just wanted to let you know you’re not alone. I belonged to my cat for 21 years and he was diagnosed with kidney failure 3 years ago. The doctor only gave him two to live at the most but sounds like my Squirt was a lot like Stump. After a really bad week of not responding to treatments I had to make the same decision and let him go on March 3. Reading your post definitely brought a tear (many tears actually)to my eye but it’s nice to know there is someone else out there who know’s what it’s like to watch this disease progress and the tough decisions you have to make. I’m so sorry you had to go through that. Even though you know from the start this day will come, it’s not any easier. You gave Stump a wonderful and loving tribute.
*Sigh*
We lost a family pet (Kimba) last year. She belonged to my mother who passed in 98.
When her pet passed we felt some of that familiar pain. I will tell you what I said to my daughters
“we get the opportunity to be with (people and pets) in this life… when they leave us, it is our job to remember the joy and the memories we shared”.
It is still sad to lose our pets, they become part of our families as soon as they allow us to love them… usually it’s with that first glance.
I am sorry for your loss… you wrote a wonderful story and with it Felix will live on.
I am truly sorry to see the decision you had to make, and hope that you can find a way to recall the good, for as long as we remember those who we lose, they are never truly gone.
Sending lots of kitty mojo your way, Wil. And remember, loving too much is never a flaw.
To Wil and family,
You are in my thoughts.
Tonto
Wil,
I’ve had to make that choice, and I let my dog decide. It was one of the hardest things to do, but he didn’t want to hurt anymore and I understood.
And it was only a timespan of 3 days from happy to romping across the Rainbow Bridge.
Maybe Felix can keep my Sunny (my kitty I had for 17 years), and my Lestat (my dog) company where they are.
“Ever has it been that love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation.”
Many hugs for you and your family, Wil. Pets are a gift and it’s always hard to let them go. Thank God for kind owners like you in the world. Take care and have a real good cry.
Hugs,
Nancy.
(mad fan that did a manip of you as Dream from Sandman).
keep the happy memories on your mind
Our condolences. It sounds as if you went above and beyond doing all you could.
About 2 years ago my wife and I had to put our beagle to sleep. I had lived with that dog longer then my wife and he was like our first child. He was only 11 or 12 years old and should’ve had a few more years in him.
It was very hard, as he probably could’ve lived for quite some time, but his quality of life had rapidly deteriorated over the winter. In just 6 months he went from a good life to being a blind, incontinent, moody old man who didn’t want to go beyond our deck or driveway. Worse, his behavior changed–he wasn’t the nice dog we had loved, he bacame a snarly, angry dog. After many trips to the vet, and many different treatments, the vet told us there was nothing left to do due to Flipper’s age. The dog would stay alive for some time, but he wouldn’t be living. Further treatments would cause pain to Flipper and would be more for us then for him. Before long, all the dog would know is that we brought him pain when he saw us (this was a dog who would yelp in pain as soon as he saw the nail clippers, forget about actually trying to clip his nails).
2 years later, the decision we made that day still haunts and saddens us. Our heads tell us we made the right decision, Flipper’s quality of life would only get worse as he was no longer well enough for long romps (although he could still move if he saw a rabbit or something) & we had to seperate him from our son (we couldn’t be sure he wouldn’t just snap unexpectantly, signs of which he was already showing). What it came down to was we did all we could for him and it was time to set him free.
Now 2 years later, we finally have been able to move on and have just adopted another dog (actually, he adopted our son). Clifford, the little brown dog, is part pug and part beagle (got him out of the pound) has many of Flipper’s traits (except Clifford has cat issues he needs to resolve before one of the cats decides that they have had enough of his yapping) and is a worthy successor to Flipper.
Putting a pet down is hard, but at the end of the day, they are expecting you to do right by them. Even if that means putting them down, you gotta do what you gotta do.
Now 2 years later, Flipper’s last days are no longer in our thoughts. Instead we rememember the good times when he was healthy and enjoyed life. Sure, we still feel sad about his demise, when we think of it, but it was his time. We did all we could, and that’s what matters.
Hey Wil,
Hope you guys are doing okay. I got this in my email this morning and thought you’d get a chuckle out of it. I’m sure your readers will, too. It’s a bit long and I don’t remember how much html I can use in this forum so if it’s sloppy I apologize:
Movie Review: First Daughter (**)
By Mark Welch, special to Arcamax
Samantha Mackenzie (Katie Holmes) is the daughter of the President (Michael Keaton, yea…I know). She’s off to college and wants to be a “normal kid,” so of course this won’t be happening.
After instant bonding with her freshman roommate (yea, that happens often), the pair go off to a frat party where they have fun on a slip and slide (I’m not making this up), and eventually Sam finds obligatory romance with a hunky guy.
There’s more to the story than this, but First Daughter had lost me by this point; When the movie tries to surprise us with a revelation it’s too late. Holmes is 26 and although she tries to make Samantha naive, I didn’t buy it. I never bought Keaton as our Commander in Chief. And I know the story is aimed at a younger set than me, but even my almost 11-year old female moviewatching companion (I’ll call her Brandin) became bored by the final act.
First Daughter is Jerry O’Connell’s screenwriting debut. I think Vern needs to listen to some more of Gordie’s stories by the campfire before he is inspired to write again (kudos to those who get THAT reference). And what is Forest Whitaker thinking? Instead of starring in the movies deserving of his acting ability, he’s instead wasting his time on this mush. I’m nonplused.
SKIP IT! 🙁
10-point scale rating: 3
Mark’s 2004 Movie List Rank: 78th out of 93 movies (.161 pct.)
Comparison Reviews: Roger Ebert: (**); Steve Rhodes: (*); NY Post: (*); NY Times: (* 1/2); LA Times: (* 1/2); Reel.com: (** 1/2); Seattle Times: (***); Entertainment Weekly: (C-); E! Online: (C); Rotten Tomatoes: 71 total reviews: 10% positive, average rating: 3.8/10
Quotable: “First Daughter is even more nauseating than most teen trifles.” — John Monaghan, DETROIT FREE PRESS
Cast: Katie Holmes, Marc Blucas, Amerie, Michael Keaton
Directed by: Forest Whitaker
Written by: Jerry O’Connell, Jessica Bendinger and Kate Kondell
MPAA RATING: Rated PG for language, sexual situations, and alcohol-related material
Now available on DVD.
Wil,
My condolences to you and your family on the loss of your family member. I started to cry halfway through your blog entry as we just recently had to make a similar decision about a feline member of our family. (Gives Wil and Anne a big virtual hug.)
-gil
I read this post very shortly after you posted it, I was too emotional to make any sort of comments. Over the past couple days I’ve checked in to see if you had any updates, I’ve bawled like a baby every time I read the title. Then bawled some more when reading the wonderful comments the posse has left for you and decided I needed to add mine.
I remember how alone and isolated I felt after I had to put my beautiful baby girl Ginger to sleep. How could ANYONE possibly understand how much my heart ached and the huge emptiness in my life?
I hope that you and Anne have gotten some comfort from all these awesome people all over the world sharing in your pain and sadness. I hope you felt all the arms of the WW Posse around you as you said goodbye to The Bear as we were all there with you in spirit.
Goodbye sweet Bear… there are so many people all over the world who mourn your passage and we will never forget you.
Much love to you Anne, Wil, Nolan & Ryan.
Megan, Drew, Nikitta, Trinity, Brandy and Nala.
I am sitting at work, listening to the LOTR soundtrack, and reading and in a sense loving Felix the cat. Tears are streaming from my eyes, and my fondest wish is to run home now and grab my cat Coal, and just pet him, hold him and tell him that he is never allowed to go away.
These gentle creatures can only share a portion of our lives, but the are so much a part of our lives, that their end of the journey, I profoundly hope, is just another beginning.
To Wil, Anne, Nolan and Ryan and the rest of the clan Wheaton: My familie’s sincerest sympathies, and our thoughts for you and your loss.
The Romero Clan
Philadelphia, PA
My condolences to all of your family. As all of us who share out cats’s homes, I feel your sadness very deeply. Thanks for your expression of what we all feel and fear.
So sorry to hear about Felix, but I’m sure you made the right choice. He’s off to a better place now, where catnip flows like water and there’s always a house to prowl around in.
to you and your family…
Wil and Anne, I am so sorry. I’ve never considered myself to be a cat person, though I have interacted with a few pretty cool cats in the past. You really brought Felix to life for me. Thank you for doing that. I know it was hard.
I originally started to read this at work last week but had to stop so I wasn’t bawling at work. Now that I’m safe in the confines of my own home, I can let loose… My heart goes out to you and your family…I’ve been there, done that, and it’s never easy…But you’ve handled everything with grace and dignity.
I went through a nearly identical experience with my beloved cat of twenty years. I am so sorry for your loss.
http://fasternu.blogspot.com/2005/04/and-now-im-sad.html
Sorry to hear about Felix. We just had to let our dog go this weekend. After 17 years of friendship and love it is a hard thing to do. But you put it perfectly when you said roughly that the decision shouldnt be what we want but what she wants. My heart goes out to you and your family.
Hey folks, I woke up yesterday to find that my cat was unable to walk. The vet told us that it’s chronic renal failure. He’s been shivering (spasming?) a lot. Has that been typical for anyone else? Have your cats gotten back the ability to walk? Did they refuse water?
My cat is 15 years old so… you know… but we’re hopeful that we can help him to feel as good as possible until it happens.
We lost our Spooky to Kidney disease in Sept. 2002. She was with us for 16 years. We found her on Halloween, a ball of fur some crazy teens were trying to run over with their car. I rescued her and we were forever in her debt. She was a member of our family. She was a sister, a friend, a caring and perceptive feline empath. She thought she was human and after a while we just accepted that fact. We miss her no less than if she was. Our lives were better for having known her and having her in our family. We will see her again….’Spooky’ cat. Our love goes out to you, Wil. Although the pain of passing is sharp and lasting, with time it turns into a greater feeling of the love left behind.
Wil, our cat Shiva died of a blood parasite when he was 6 years old. He would have died anyway two days later if we had not put him down when we did.
Even now, more than two years later, I still see him running down the hall after waking me up in the middle of the night to let him out. I love him still. I miss him still.
When I remember Shiva now, it is with laughter and love. I strongly suspect it will be the same for you and the Bear.
Wil,
I think Felix was a very lucky cat to have found you and your family. I too had and have my share of “Felix’s” at home.
I always thought long ago seeing you on the Star Trek Next Generation episodes that you seemed like such a sensitive and caring person, and now I see that it is true.
God bless you and yours…
Beth
Wil,
I just don’t know what to say, I just started getting caught up reading your blog and so much has happened…I lost “my” kitty about two years ago and his brother is still with us, but I am not sure for how long. He is very old…
I have grown up with my cats, I watched their birth when I was still very young and now I am 23 and still have one of them with me. And I still can’t help but think of Michael…
I have read many sad stories and many blogs from many people… I have heard stories that would make most people break down in tears and I have always kept it inside…But to listen/read your events without knowing it I had been moved to tears.
What I am trying to say is I can relate to your pain, I believe that pain is an individual thing to each person and different for each so we can’t truly know it, but we can relate to it… And while this is a bit late I know, and I will post it to something more recent because I want you to know how much my heart goes out to you, because I know even a year later I still miss Michael and it makes me sad when I remember I wont see him peak around the corner and meow at me and try to startle the heck outa me.. and that he wont be waking me up anymore by nuzzling me gently first and stronger and stronger till I get the message.
I want to express just how much my heart goes out to you. I like so many people remembered you from TNG, but until I saw you on The Screen Savers one day I never really realized what a wonderful person you are. Intelligent, Caring, Fun, Creative, and above all….Real. I would be ordering copies of your books but I just read the post a bit ago and already you were sold out. I do however look forward to more than ever reading your works.
So please accept my digital hug and know that you are indeed a special person in this universe. BTW I know I have referred exclusively to you, but this is also meant for your lovely wife and family as well.
A/G