a burst of happy through all that sad

I had not planned to post anything again quite so soon. Life. What happens when.

You know. Like John Lennon said.

The losses are just part of it. We try to forget this as often, and for as long, as we possibly can.

My daughter, Taylor, and her great, kind heart rescued a tiny, woefully sick kitten found on her job a few days ago. Strays are everywhere right now at apartment complexes like the one she manages.

She would later face the unenviable task of explaining what would happen too soon after to her two young children.

Taylor did all the right things for the kitten. Immediately to the vet. Treatment for a raging respiratory infection and internal parasites, fluids given. She left the vet’s office, hopeful. I even thought I’d found a home for the little thing, once it was improved, though it was clear all along, I think, that I was going to break down and take it myself, to add to my wife’s and my rescue-pet brood. The kitten, who had a loving feistiness even in illness, reminded me so much of my beloved Old Blind Boy Kitty, whom Lisa and I lost a few years ago, a pang of grief I will carry forever.

But then the sweet little creature wouldn’t eat, not anything. She quickly grew sicker, and much sicker, and frailer, and the infection showed no hint of slowing down. Finally, this morning, it was clear, and we made that kind and awful decision, to be merciful, the only right thing left to do, though I will say from too much emotional weariness across my life that there is no mercy for any heart that has already fallen in love with something it is brutally forced to let go.

I drove the kitten to our vet, who confirmed that he saw no good path forward at this point. The only right thing to do …

I’m including no pictures of the ailing creature. This is sad enough without piling on.

Our vet, a phenomenal guy, did what was needed, of course, though the kitten was so small and frail, it was a difficult process. When the tiny thing slipped finally away to sleep, it was a relief knowing she wouldn’t now just waste away, in misery, as that was the only other option that had been left.

It so easy at such times to say we will never go through this again. That it’s just too painful, the loss of something so sweet, and so trusting. That the hurt alone in trying so hard to help, and then not being able to change a terrible situation, is itself awful and profound.

And I will add this, though I realize it may sound cynical; I do not mean it that way:

Never pick, or really even start talking about, names for an intended pet before you know clearly that it has a chance to thrive. Names makes the whole situation your own. They add an immediate level of hurt if something goes wrong.

You will, though. You will seek a name. You’re falling in love. You need a name for it. But, oh.

These endings, no matter early on or after a full life still so much shorter than our own, they break me in two like kindling, every time.

So that’s the sad part here, clearly. Pretty fucking said. And yes, it has truly been an awful day for my family, this loss of a fragile little soul yet so barely even known to us. I understand that many people might therefore fail to understand my going on and on here.

Though if you yourself have rescue pets, I suspect you get it, you do. The loss of one, even in such merciful circumstances, is that broader reminder, the one none of us ever wants. Still, I’m sorry for any sadness I may have brought to you.

But then, hey. There are these pictures, taken just before sunset earlier. Look at these.

These are all the proof I need that trying to rescue a vulnerable animal is forever the right choice, as best we can manage in our own circumstances. Personal, financial, we can only do what we can do, of course.

But still, the joy and trust in that fuzzy goofball face. You cannot beat that. You can’t.

That’s Marley, by the way, brought home as a rescue late last year. She necklaced-up in that flying-disc donut, actually being played with here for the very first time, all by herself. She had absolutely no help from me.

You’ve gotta wade through the hard stuff, the awful stuff, the heartbreak stuff, there’s no avoiding it. But the good stuff reminds us of the difference we can make, and not just to an animal that desperately needs the help. The difference, also, for ourselves.

All hail the good stuff.