Fate can be incredibly twisted and cruel sometimes. A few hours after I wrote my previous blog post, the one where I talked about how happy and content I had been feeling, our young and much loved kitty, Harry, was hit and killed by a car on the road near our home.

The pain of losing such a joyous and vital part of our family in such a shockingly horrible way was like a slow-spreading poison; it took a little while to fully sink in but, soon enough, it exploded like rocket fire through our hearts. Husband and I felt as if we had been punched senseless and left on the floor in a pool of grief, guilt, and terrible, terrible emptiness.

One of the hardest parts of mourning an animal companion is how it must, inevitably, be done in private. Usually, people don't know your pet. And certainly no one loves him or her as you do. If you are lucky---as I am---you will have sensitive and thoughtful friends who offer kind condolences and tell you they understand what you are going through since they have experienced it themselves. They make up for the one or two people who say the very worst thing: “Oh, that’s sad. Well, you can always get another cat.”

I will be forever grateful to my excellent neighbor who saw me in our garden Sunday, walked over, hugged me, and broke into tears as she talked about what a lovely cat Harry was. She held me as I sobbed into her neck and never once seemed embarrassed about what was happening. She will probably never know how much that moment meant to me. I don’t know how to explain it to her in Norwegian, the only language we share.

Mostly, though, Husband and I lean on one another as we try to get through these long days after Harry's death. We only had Harry for a year and it feels utterly unfair to be deprived of his company after so little time. He was such a happy cat, always ready for a game or a cuddle. He liked to climb trees and chase leaves and catch bugs. He loved sitting in Husband's lap. His purr could be heard throughout a room. He usually slept on Husband’s pillow but sometimes he slept next to me, often with one of his big paws curled around my fingers or pressed against my back. If I woke in the night and felt Harry snuggled up next to me, it was easier to fall back to sleep.

We still feel so sad about his passing but we know we can’t talk about it anymore except to one another. That’s the other thing about grieving a pet; if you do it for longer than a few days, people think you’re odd. So we miss him behind closed doors while keeping a close watch on Frida, our remaining cat and Harry’s best friend. She’s still slow to round a corner in the house, expecting Harry to pounce on her the way he used to. She cocks her head at any small noise, perhaps wondering what he’s up to and why he’s hiding. She’ll give up after a while, I guess, and get used to having the house to herself again. It will take longer for us.

RIP Harry. You were a very good cat. We're so very sorry we didn't take better care of you.