Mouse.
So on Friday Mouse and I went to the vet, and Mouse didn’t get to come home with me. I’ve never made such a painful decision before, hope never to have to again, but I know what I did was right. Mouse led a good, long life, filled with every pleasure he could have desired, and he knew he was loved. I think that’s all you can ask out of life, heck, probably more than you can expect, and while my house is sort of empty now, after having had the best roommate of all time for some eleven years, it’s also filled with memories that I wouldn’t trade for anything.
Like this one:
And I know that many of you knew and loved Mouse as well, having cat-sit for him, or lived with him, or just hung out on my couch with him, and I’m glad about that, but I’ve decided that after all the difficulty I’ve had in simply writing about this, reading stories about how well we all liked Mouse and how sad we are to see him gone will just make me cry, which is something I’ve been doing entirely too much of lately. So I’ve turned the comments off on this entry, even though some of you have offered to add something and I would certainly be touched by your kindness. I don’t mean to deny anyone, but sometimes saying nothing at all is the right thing to do.
In fact, I wish I could have said nothing at all about this now, but I miss him already, and my blog is going to be just that much less fun without him. Molly and I are asking that you bear with us as we adjust to our new situation, and promise to return again just as soon as we’re up to it.