Mercenary acts

Well, life certainly does not adhere to any rules you might want to apply. Yesterday, I gave away my cat. If you know me you know how much I loved my cat. I happen to think he was especially fantastical. However, he was also very jealous of the attention the new baby required. He would run and leap and meow and meow and MEOW all day, all night. He would stalk the baby's moving arms and legs, he would knock things from high places and he would wake the baby up CONSTANTLY!

Poor kitty. He was so spoiled by me and couldn't adjust to the change. A friend of T's offered to adopt him. So now he is with a family with 2 daughters in a house. It was heartbreaking for me. A really tough decision. I never, ever, ever thought I would give him away. In fact, while pregnant, I would lay awake sleepless for hours, worrying that the baby might be allergic to him and then what would we do? I even considered having to have a child on constant allergy pills or just vacuuming a lot rather than giving the cat away should that occur. That all changed drastically the second Leon was born. Poor kitty was no longer number 1 and never would have been again.

I hesitated to get a new cat after Hoovy, my old cat who passed on a few years ago after a long life. It took me years to get over that. Now, here I am, mourning another cat, even though he is still alive. The best I can hope is that he will be happy and well-loved in his new home. They are so lucky to get such a great cat.

And as for us, we can concentrate fully on our son without worrying about him being clawed by a cat or waken 10 times a day from his very precious and highly appreciated naps....however...still very sad.

Faut l'accepter, is what I am repeating to myself. Translation : gotta suck it up.
Makes me feel so mercenary. I keep having the inclination to call the new family and tell them all the little things they must do: litter once a day, no milk!!, likes little mice toys, rub his face like a mother cat cleaning her kittens, let him greet you in the morning by head butting you...I basically want to still take care of him. Guilt, you know. I cast him from his home. He has a new one, but maybe he won't like it.

And so on.

It's the whole grieving process all over again. No more pets. Never ever ever erver nerver. I can't even wrap this post up without it sounding like a friggin eulogy.

Sigh. Sorry Trilby.