The highs and lows of parenting and real estate.

A Memento

I got a box in the mail today from the veterinarian office who put Mac down for us. I cut the box open with a small amount of trepidation and found this:

These were my immediate thoughts:

1. OH THANK GOD IT’S NOT HER ASHES. I mean, I know some people like stuff like that, but really, what in the hell am I going to do with our dead cat’s ashes? Spread a little bit in each of the corners of the house where she liked to pee? Sprinkle them in the yard where she liked to sneak outside and eat grass that would eventually make her puke on the carpet? Keep them in a tiny little vase with a kitty shrine in our living room? Because I gotta tell you, we’re really not kitty shrine people. So, you know, whew, on that one.

2. Hrm. They spelled her name wrong. She probably wouldn’t have minded, though. She wasn’t a really fantastic speller.

3. Did they make this with her paws after she was dead? Like they made the ceramic mould and used her stiffening cat corpse to create the paw imprints? Jesus Hercules Christ am I glad I’m not a veterinary assistant. They did not mention that task in those late night ‘You, too, could have a fabulous new career!’ commercials.

4. I should probably hide this from my kids. We’ve already made it through all of that dead family pet junk, this will only rehash it. I’m not sure I’m stocked up enough on wine for a resurgence of that tonight.

5. Do they send one of these to everyone who had a pet they put down or was it because I was crying so hard? I mean… people cry when a pet dies, right? That’s a natural reaction, isn’t it? Or was I embarrassing myself by my lack of self control and naked grief? Was it because I went through almost an entire box of kleenex while I was there? They felt sorry for me didn’t they? I’m so humiliated.

6. It’s really, really sweet, though. *SNURFLE* I just… still have a cold. It’s mucus. And dust under my contacts. I’m not emotional.

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