I guess it’s a “guy thing.”
We had to put our little cat Amanda to rest yesterday. She was our Lap Cat. She would crawl into my lap when I chanted my rounds, into Mona’s lap when she wrote letters or read books.
She was very old for a cat- nineteen- and her health had declined precipitously. She was hurting, She was unhappy. Logically, I know it was the right decision. It was the final, compassionate thing I could do for her.
But there’s part of me that still feels like, as the man, it was my job to Fix This– and, of course, I just couldn’t. Not this time.
And I know it’s completely illogical, but it feels like a failure.