John K. Samson sings about his cat ... and I cry.

As you might imagine, this has not been the best week of my life.

I've been drifting between "normalcy" and really vivid flashbacks every day. My sense of "normalcy" is understandably fucked at the moment. I've never had anything taken or destroyed like this. I've never had a living creature die in my arms. My sensory perception is all over the place. It's been hard to eat soft foods. I jumped at a dog bark today - it didn't surprise me - I saw it. It was day light, the dog was across the street and behind a fence - but I still jumped. I've been cat sitting while Lara's away, and I have trouble petting Ginny and Minerva's stomachs. I found one of Timon's hairs on my fleece sweater tonight, and almost put it in my pocket to save. But I made myself throw it away.

My dad said that Animal Control is mailing in a statement/questionnaire that I have to fill out and mail back. I'm actually planning on writing out a full account of what happened - for myself. I haven't talked about what I saw - to anyone. It's just too intense - the telling of which would inflict damage on the hearer; particularly if the hearer isn't a licensed professional. But I'm hoping that if I write about it in detail - if I just get it out - the continual shock will lessen, the piercing violence that catches me off guard will subside, and I won't have to be afraid of closing my eyes any more.

What I struggled with today was the idea that if my life could change in the course of 15 minutes on Monday, if I could have something ripped away from me that quickly, what's to say that it won't happen again tomorrow? Or the next day? Well, nothing is the answer. And I knew that before ... I've never had issues dealing with change. What I'm struggling with is the concept of change without consent. I'm actually dealing with the concept of murder. And while it's on a comparatively smaller scale, it's clearly having a profound impact on my life.

I heard this song on my way home from dinner and a movie with my Dad. He told me that no pet he's ever had has effected him the way Timon's death has. I think that's true for all of us. I broke into sobs while driving.

"I can't remember the sound that you found for me..."



Fiona left a lovely message on my facebook:

"Perhaps stars are not stars, but rather openings in heaven, where our loved ones shine down on us to let us know they are happy."


I made Timon the middle star in Orion's belt. That way I can always find him.