Friday. Dad crossed the river this morning.
I always thought we would have a parting moment. I’d be right there with him, holding his paw with mine. And he would say something like “Harold, be a good kitty. Take care of your mother and sire many kittens. I’m crossing the river now. Some day, we’ll meet again on the other side.”
But no. When I got there this morning, he was already stone-cold dead. Dr. Kindly wrapped him in a blanket and put him in the back of his 1955 Nash Rambler Cross-Country station wagon. Mom meowed mournfully.
Dad will be buried at Kitty Rest Haven. There will be no funeral or memorial service, that’s not a thing with cats.
I don’t feel like writing anything else, so...all for now.