Tabster

I guess I never realized how hard it is to lose a pet. I mean, we've had pets in our family die in the past, but I didn’t really have that much interaction with them, so it didn’t affect me much. I’m also not an extremely emotional person, so I wasn't as sad as the other members of my family when they were gone.

But Tabster was my cat. I got her when I was in third grade, and I considered her the best cat that ever existed. A lot of people don’t like cats as much as dogs, but she was different. She was a special cat.

I have little scars on my hand from Tabster from when I first got her. We played this little game that usually ended in her attacking my hand. We had a special understanding, but she really liked using her claws.

Every morning, Tabster would wait outside my bedroom door so that I would feed her when I got up. She followed me everywhere until she got her food, and then she rubbed against my leg right before she ate as a way of thanking me, I suppose.

She also did this weird thing where she attacked my head. I would be sitting on our comfy chair in the den, and she would jump up on top of it behind me. Then, she would start smelling my hair before suddenly completely encircling the top of my head. It always made my mom and me laugh, probably because it was so darn strange.

I remember growing up when we would have friends spend the night, and we created this neat, fort-like bungalow bed out of the couch in the den. Usually in the middle of the night, I would awaken to the sound of Tabster acting crazy. She got hyper late at night and would randomly sprint through the house and climb on walls.

She also had a special spot in our house right by the glass door to the backyard where she would "sunbathe," as my mom would call it. One knew not to bother her too much when she was in that spot. I believe that’s how I got at least one scar on my hand.

I knew Tabster was getting up there in age, but she still had such livelihood in her—until the past week, that is. It just suddenly happened that one day she wasn't her normal self. She was weak. She stopped eating. She wouldn’t even drink water. Or, I think it was more that she couldn't drink it. She couldn't even purr anymore. You could tell she was trying, but it just would not happen. And she was no longer outside my door waiting to be fed each morning.

Last night when I got home from an event at my church, I tried making her drink some water. She was so frail and listless, so I tried putting water on her mouth so she could just lick it. But, no matter how hard she tried, she could not even manage to get her tongue out of her mouth. I had a strong feeling that those would be my last moments with my cat. And they were.

I woke up this morning to find Tabster completely gone. It was a heart-wrenching sight for which I was not prepared, and it is unfortunately something I will never forget. But I am glad she is no longer in any pain.

Tabster will never be outside my door in the mornings again, and I won't have my head oddly mauled, but I will always remember what a great addition she was to this family. And I'm glad now that she left some little scars on my hand; at least that way she leaves her mark in my life.