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Derrick picked me up at the airport last night with tears in his eyes. He said to me, "I don't know how to tell you this, so I'll just say it--Karenin is dead."

Karenin is our 3 year old cat. Apparently he choked on a hairball in the night, tried to make it up the stairs to Derrick, but couldn't get there.

It's just a cat. Logically I know this. I grew up on a farm for godssakes, cats die all the time. . . animals die all the time.

But this is different. I'm not crazy-sad with grief, but I'm just....yeah. It feels like a little piece of our lives was taken away.

We aren't crazy cat people, we only have (had) two--but they are (were) our "kids." We don't wear them as accessories, or spoil them excessively, or treat them like people--but they're our little family.

Our other cat (alias: Stupid, Little kitty, The Grey one, and Smokey) was found laying beside Karenin and trying to "wake him up." He yowled at Derrick until he took the body away--and now he keeps repeatedly going back to the spots where Karenin (Alias: Big kitty) used to lay, looking for him.

SO, we're going to try to bury the body out at my parents' place--if anyone has any good ideas for digging in frozen ground, let me know.

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March 2022

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