Last Saturday night hit me with the hardest decision I’ve ever had to make. The vet at the ER said my little girl would need multiple blood transfusions and bone marrow transplants to continue to live. I wanted her to live.
How significant can a cat really be? When I looked into Zanni’s eyes at Angell Memorial Shelter nine years ago our two unique souls fused into place. I realize what you’re reading may sound embellished for dramatic effect. But I’ve had a lot of pets over the years and would say nice things about all of them. Zanni was special.
Making a living as an independent artist is challenging. Likewise with being a boyfriend, a brother, and a son. Zanni was so much more than her small feline body. She was my constant. Her stable presence supported me with the groundedness of a hundred acre forest. When she held my gaze it carried the assurance of a mother cradling her newborn. She reminded me that everything will be ok. We were there for each other. My Saturday ritual was to dump my bag of laundry on the bed for her to curl up in blissful warmth. The affection she radiated was as delicate as a falling leaf and simultaneously as intense as light from the sun. She was shy around people, uninterested in treats, and only received ire from her sister. And still she was always vibrant and sweet. Gongs rung at remote Buddhist temples are faint compared to the soothing of her purring against my chest.
More than anything on Earth I wanted the emergency room doctors to use all their resources to save her so that we could continue to be together. I needed her to live. But what Zanni needed was peace. The choice to let her go was painfully clear.
On Sunday morning Kat contacted her boss at At Home Vet. He arrived and gracefully shepherded her from this life. She will always be my little girl. She showed me what pure love feels like. I’m holding onto that and sharing it with all of my heart
Donations to help with medical bills welcome
