When I was 8 years old, my dad brought home two cats.
He always brought home animals in pairs and since these cats came up to him together, he was going to be leaving with the both of them.
I remember walking into the house and seeing these two tiny kittens.
A girl with bright green eyes, fluffy tail, and a calico coat.
The boy was all black with the same green eyes.
We named them Ginger and Ozzy.
I grew up with Ginger and she was more than just a pet to me.
She was always there whenever I had a bad day and constantly comforted me.
And when I moved back home in January after a breakup, the only thing that made me feel okay was being back with my cat.
And like always, she laid there in bed with me and provided me the comfort I needed during such a hard time in my life.
But two weeks ago, I had to put her down.
She laid in my lap at the vet, and you could tell she was tired.
I held on to her for a while and I knew it was time when her small paw wrapped around my finger.
I’ve been trying to deal with this for the past couple weeks and it made me realize that we don’t talk enough about grieving when it comes to our pets.
I think we can all agree that pets, especially ones we grow up with, become more than just pets.
They are a part of the family – and in most cases run the house.
They are constant in our lives.
Until one day, they aren’t.
And that’s hard to deal with.