This morning I got up and went looking for Nigel. He wasn’t around, which was unusual since he loves his food and doesn’t miss out on a morning feeding. I went to the front door and called his special call. Nothing. I went out back and called. Nothing. Dread set in as I pulled on my shoes to check the main road. I didn’t have to look very far because he was there. Dead. There wasn’t any suffering.
He was my favorite of all our cats and we have so many fond memories with the big guy. He loved our dogs, especially Mocha, our first pointer. When Moby came into our life, he resumed his long lost pointer friendship with him. I was looking forward to spending lots of quality time with him this winter, cuddled on my lap. He had been with us for over 11 years and outlived both of his siblings.
I really won’t miss all the mice, voles, rabbits, birds, flying squirrels, and other critters he would bring in our house (as I smell a dead one right now, location yet to be determined).
I was going to write about honoring my mother’s spirit today, since it would have been her 85th birthday and we did tons of work out at her coast house this weekend. But I’ll save that for another day. One loss at a time.