6 years ago, in September, I felt my heart crack into little pieces. It was the first time I had to experience the death of a pet.
It was the day I woke up to find the cold body of my cat Paws in the bathroom. Paws was the second cat I adopted, after Pisase. Paws lived for almost 2 years with us after we brought her home as a kitten from a catwelfare society adoption drive. She wasn't a very strong kitty, falling sick every month at the beginning and being subject to all sorts of medication. She got better and with better food, a loving home, she got healthier. But she never grew to her full adult size, remaining the size of a kitten all through her short life. That made her look adorable.
But what really made her a favourite around the house was how loving she was. Paws was a lap cat who enjoyed curling up with us as we watched TV, worked , ate dinner or went to bed. Paws was the best alarm clock I could have. She woke me up at the same time each morning by standing on me and meowing - telling me that it was time to wake up and feed her.
ays leading up to her death, growing skinnier each day. I was planning to take her to the vet the next day after she seemed disoriented and refused to eat that night. She howled in the middle of the night and I woke up to see what was wrong. She wanted water and wanted to huddle in the bathroom - a place she seemed to like, probably because the floor was cool. I pet her, gave her little head a rub and told her we'll be going to the vet in the morning.
Morning came. Paws left. Till today I still think of her. September, the month of her death anniversary is when I think of her most. This year particularly, memories of my furry friend are more vivid than usual. Because after 6 years, this is the September I'm actually in the house where she lived and died. I have to say, it still hurts to think back to that day
