My cat is dying. My sweet, affectionate, lovable, precious, seventeen-year-old, atypical cat… Her name is Hershey and she has been with me basically my entire adult life… all the way back to when life was as expected.

I’m thirty-nine years old and have no children of the human variety. Hershey is my baby. She was here when I was young and thin and carefree… working my first real job after graduating from college. She was here through a divorce, multiple moves, the entire lifespan of my beloved Jack Russell, Jake and what was, in hindsight, a scary bout with depression.

She is a beautiful chocolate Siamese, once overweight with a substantial showing of leftover skin after we slimmed her down. She will come when I call her name (yes, like a dog). She knows how to do tricks like high-fiving J’s or my hand for a treat. She loves to have her chin scratched and never scratches her people.

When I had my own retail business years ago, I spent long hours there to keep the doors open. Hershey was lonely at home without me so I relocated her to the store. She quickly won the hearts of all my regulars. When my brother would bring his Yorkie (Hot Rod) around, he could never resist going after Hershey. She was twice his size and, having no claws to lash out at him with, she would literally punch him. Neither of them was ever angry or in danger of being hurt which allowed us to laugh like crazy at the spectacle they would make.

The last few months, my baby has been different. I’ve known for some time this day would come but I’m not ready. I have kept watch over her all night, just as she did for me last fall when I was recovering from third degree burns. She doesn’t want to move much so I put a blanket in the floor beside her and scratched her little brown chin and spoke softly to her… tried to give her comfort in what I know are our last moments together. I couldn’t resist picking her fragile old body up and holding her in my lap one last time and I know she was okay with that.

I know that one of these next few times that I walk in that room and lie down beside her is going to be the time when I see that she is gone from this world. I have always talked to her as if she can understand what I’m saying so I said my farewell.

It’s okay, old girl. I know you are tired and your body has given out. You have had a good, good life and been a good kitty. You have been with mama through the hardest parts of her life and it’s okay for you to close your little eyes now and rest. I’m gonna be okay. Mama loves you very much and I am so glad that I got to know you and have you in my life. And I don’t care what anyone says… I choose to believe there is a very special Heaven for sweet babies like you and I know that’s where you’re headed. I love you.

I wish J was here.