Bitty

All the spare love I have today is going to Bitty.  I've never met Bitty; I've only seen a picture or two.  Bitty, also known as Fat Mike, was a 14-year-old cat belonging to Amy, a childhood friend of mine.  Amy posted Bitty's passing on Facebook, and I could not help but notice that so many of the condolences made reference to the commenters' own pets and the anguish that they, too, suffered at the passing of their beloved animals.

And I was there myself, less than two months ago, when I had to put down Mack, my Golden Retriever.  My grief is still raw, so I am sympatico with Amy.  But so are many, many others, including ones whose pets left them months or years ago.  So I am trying to process this powerful grief that is visited upon us many times over the course of our lives.

If you asked me to make a list of the pets I have lost, I would have to reach back into memories that I've carefully tucked away so deep that I no longer feel the pain.  The list would begin with Susie, the English Setter that somehow disappeared when I was five, and it would end with Mack, the sweet soul whose absence still reminds me every day that love hurts.  The list would span almost 60 years and would probably contain more dogs than cats.  My list would not be much different than yours.  And you, like me, would have a few favorites in the group.

Mack came into my life a couple of months before my husband died.  Bitty was Amy's companion through her husband's dying and eventual death last year.  So I am going to take a risk here and say that Mack and Bitty were special angels with a directive much bigger than the average pet.  In no way do I want to undermine the great love that anyone else's pet delivered, but I do believe that Mack and Bitty were sent here with a more complicated karma.

Amy's career involves being away from home for stretches of a couple of days.  When she would return from one of these jaunts, she would post a picture of Bitty curled up at her feet.  And she would be at peace.  Bitty was her comfort, her security, her reminder of the great love that she shared with her husband.  Losing Bitty will deepen Amy's grief over the loss of her beloved John, and there is nothing that anyone can say or do to change that reality.  But Amy is no stranger to grief, having lost her own mother when she was eighteen.  She is resilient and strong and not ashamed to fall apart when she needs to.  So is there any question about my falling in love with Bitty today?  I am sending incredibly large waves of love out to Bitty, and those waves are radiating out to Mack and Pete and John and all the spirits, human or animal, who visit us in this world and then move on to some amazing communion of souls, a party that can only be referred to as Heaven.  Godspeed, Bitty.