by Lynn Perry
I've just returned from putting my 18 year old cat Furhead to sleep. I
will miss many things: her bark meow, her long, complaining cry, the
way she drank from the faucet, the way her cheek felt in the palm of
my hand, purr rumbling against my fingers. I love her. She loved me,
one of the maybe three folks she put in that category. I can grieve,
knowing that I tended her lovingly and well. I will miss you, Furhead.
I hope there is a heaven; I'd sure like to see you there when it's my
time to go (assuming I get the heaven ticket). Keep an eye out for me;
I know I'll be looking for you. Thank you for lo