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 I believe it is the distemper virus. It runs fierce like a forest fire, and rapid.


Right now I don't now. I can't see through this haze of grief.

February 9, 2011

Not All Parting is

Such Sweet Sorrow

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The past year was particularly difficult. It is like that old saying, “Experience is what you get when you don't get what you want”. So that sums up my year. One of the more heartbreaking experiences that I had over and over again is watching something so warm and alive suddenly become stiff and cold.

In our neighbor's field beside our house there live many cats. Most of them find their way to my terrace for a daily feed and stroke. When I see they need to have a little extra care, I give it if I am able. I cannot let them live inside my house, though, because I am allergic.

It saddens me, especially in the winter. They have shelter in a derelicht house next to ours, but it is very rank and germ ridden. I have sprayed disinfectants and bug sprays, but apparently something still lives.

I believe it is the distemper virus. It runs fierce like a forest fire, and rapid. Over a dozen cats and kittens from the field have now died from it. Some of them are more precious to me than others. I give them homeopathic treatment to settle the virus and hope that there immune system repairs.

My two favorites have both perished, though. The second one over the weekend. When he didn't come around, I went into the field to search for him. I found his body there. I was gutted.

Cats in the wild don't survive beyond four years, generally. And that's what he was. I guess it was his time. But it hard to let go. I am not good at saying good-bye. I do cherish my memories of the sweet creature, my bond cat. Of course, I feel I could have done more. This is natural, and perhaps also true.

Right now I don't know. I can't see through this haze of grief. I only contemplate how sad and strange life is. One moment my little Nezito is purring and staring at me warmly, wanting nothing more than a cuddle. Then the next moment there is only a shell before me. Life passes so quickly.

It turns off like the light above me, with but a flick of the switch. It is difficult when you do not control the switch. It does seem to matter which way I turn in these days. The taste is only bitter.

Written by Jori Sams

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