the day the longest sun went dark

I'm not really sure how to commemorate this anniversary in words.

Tigger died on this day one year ago. Technically, he died the night before, when he tried to cross Clark Street for probably the first time in his life. We're still not sure what he was doing there in the first place. It was not like him to stray far from the alley. From us, really. But that Sunday night, he did. And he never came home. And I think both Amy and I already knew why, deep down in the pit of our hearts. We went out looking for him just the same. I even woke up super early the next morning and walked the empty alleys and streets, calling his name and shaking his food. I went to work telling her it would be fine. She got the call early in the afternoon. I got her frantic call right after. I didn't really cry on the drive home. Not until I got home and saw her. And then I couldn't stop. We couldn't stop. I begged her not to come to pick him up from the stranger who had been kind enough to pick him up off the side of the road. He would be the only person who actually saw it happen. But he was short on details. All he said was it happened quickly. There was no unnecessary suffering. Except that our beautiful cat died alone, scared and inconsolable. Just that thought is enough to still rip my heart in two.

It really only hit me when I looked in the box and felt how stiff he was. We cried right there on the side walk. We cried at the vet. We cried the next week, in each other's arms and by ourselves. And when there were no more tears to shed, the real grief began. Those weeks and months became the ugly climax to one of the worst periods in my life. And judging from these tears, the wound is still fresh when poked and prodded.

I try to think about him everyday. But I still can't look at pictures too long or the leopard-print collar that's still sitting in the plastic bottle by the window - the one he loved to drink from early in the morning, by Amy's night table. His death has left me chronically paranoid about Pepe and Fiona. I will never think about the first official day of summer the same way ever again. But my mind is designed to forget - possibly for my own sanity. And so specific memories are starting to fade. Over time, I will probably forget all the tiny little moments, fights and annoyances that make having a pet so inexplicably consuming. 


If there's any one positive in all this, it's that I no longer have the luxury to take anything for granted. I remain keenly aware that all our days are numbered. 


At least I'll never forget that, Tiggy.