We buried our cat, Sasha, today. She was about five years old, independent as can be, and only had one kitten (Spot, who lives with Erin and me). I’ll spare everyone the details, but she did not die of natural causes. The point I really want to make is that Erin was remarkably helpful. She took care of the hard part for me, if you know what I mean. Dad, Rob (a neighbor, friend, and first year lawyer), and I dug a hole in the alley.
I felt sorry for Dad because he was super sick and hadn’t gotten out of bed until just then. I felt sorry for Rob because he was all showered and dressed, and yet he was sweating and digging along with the rest of us. I felt sorry for Erin because she was sick and emotionally sensitive, and yet she took it upon herself to do the most gruesome and emotionally-taxing job. But mostly, I felt sorry for Sasha.
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