There's a Feline in my Fridge

My daughter's furbaby, Harry, died yesterday.



I was, to say the least, in complete shock. Harry showed no signs of being sick.

I had been "given" the day off by my husband; he took our kids to his mother's house for the day, so I was just relaxing. I had just gotten up off the couch after watching all the DVR recordings I'd saved. I went downstairs to scrapbook for a bit, and as soon as I sat in my chair I heard cat wailing.

I'd heard this wail before, and it usually meant that a cat was trapped somewhere. I got up and went in search of whoever was trapped, but instead I found Harry laying on the rug in the downstairs den. He looked okay, so I thought his claw might be caught in the rug.

As I got closer, I realized something was wrong. He was obviously in pain. That's when the blood came.

I rushed him to the emergency vet clinic. He died on the way. I remember screaming when I realized he was dead, because my immediate thought was, "Oh, Lord. I have to tell Camryn her sweet Harry is dead." It was, at the time, an unfathomable thought.

Camryn adored Harry. They just had that bond that few people get with a pet. She actually called him her child. He was her constant companion when she was home; he slept on her bed all day and all night, every night. He cried pitifully when she was away for too long, visiting a friend overnight or her grandparents for a week at a time.

I was not looking forward to Camryn's return home, although she did know beforehand that he had passed away. I was literally nauseous over how she was going to react when she saw him. I could not eat; all I could do was think about Camryn and how she was going to deal with this tragedy.

I know it's silly. I would rather lose a cat than one of my own human children, but Harry was one of my first "kids". My husband and I adopted him from the Humane Society, and within days of him moving in with us, he developed a bad upper respiratory infection. I nursed him back to health (it took almost 4 weeks for him to completely recover). When I took him back to the vet for a checkup, she was surprised to see him. She confessed that his URI was so bad she didn't expect him to live. Good thing she didn't tell me that, because I don't think I would've fought so hard for him to live. I guess that's why this has hit me so hard. He was my baby, too.

Camryn finally arrived home around 8 pm. She said goodbye for over an hour, sobbing and stroking his soft fur. We clipped some of that fur and finally said goodbye around 9 pm. We sealed him up and put him in the downstairs refrigerator until tomorrow when we can all gather as a family to bury Harry in the yard. Camryn wants his grave to be right outside her bedroom window, so most likely that's where he will be.

The vet and his staff gave me all the supplies for burying Harry in our yard in a way that wild animals won't dig him up. They also took an impression (in clay) of his paws for us. They were incredibly kind and generous. They didn't even ask for a penny for anything.

Camryn is already talking about getting a kitten. I think we need to focus on our other cat, Beeson, for awhile.

I'm not ready to go through this again anytime soon.