Daisy is the new family cat that I don’t know very well.
But Bootsy, I do. I miss him and his troll-like tendencies. He was a very beautiful animal. Bright wintery eyes, eskimo dog-like fur, incredibly wide face. Unlike his pleasing outward appearance, his insides reeked of anxiety, fear, and anger. To put it bluntly: he was kind of a douche. The Bootsman rarely came around, hissed more than purred and only craved your attention when hungry. Despite all of that, I loved him deeply. He was a part of the Redmond family since 1992!
Anyway, two days ago I was watching some show where a rescued cat was found to have a large gaping hole in his throat. My first reaction: MAJOR TEARS. I’m talking a  sobbing, ridiculous moment of tears and pain. Strangest thing, really. Within seconds, I had flashbacks of Bootsy laying on his side, on a cold metal table right before the doctor took his life.
I cannot handle death very well. And this was a cat.
I cannot imagine my sanity when someone I love dies.
