monday, it will be three months since i had chloe euthanized.
just writing that sentence was difficult.
every day i'm sad. every day i miss her. every day i wish she were here. some days i cry about it, but most days i just snuggle one of the stuffed animals i bought to try to fill the snuggle void i created when i had her killed.
there is just no nice way to say that. no nice way to talk about it.
yes, the house is more peaceful. yes, jack-jack is a happier cat. yes, i'm not constantly in fear of being attacked.
but i also don't have a little black-and-white furball following me everywhere i go. (i have other black furballs following me most places, but it isn't the same.) jack-jack comes to check whether i'm ready for bed now, but not in the same insistent, persistent way that chloe did. when i get up to go to the bathroom, she isn't there to chase me in there and flop down on the floor for belly rubs and air biscuits. jack-jack hides outside the bathroom and pounces when i come out, and it makes me laugh, but it isn't the same. jack-jack is usually in the same room with me, but she isn't there to snuggle up right beside me and purr and get in my way when i try to type or make biscuits on my hip before finally settling in.
every day i regret what i did. every day i remind myself that i made a permanent decision and that i can't undo it and i can't bring her back. i'm so sorry, chloe. i don't know whether i did the right thing or the wrong thing or what we would have been able to do had i made a different decision, but i know that i hate the decision i did make, and i miss you and your little pink nose and your surprised green eyes every single day.