Guilt

After four years, I still find myself crying buckets over the late Smigel. She felt and understood me, like how she would start jumping all around me when I was feeling joyous or how she would come and lie down next to me when I was sick. She would keep me company when I got scared watching a horror movie in the middle of the night.

But I failed her.

She tried to communicate her pain but I took it for granted, thinking that she would be fine the next day. That night still haunts me. I opened the door to check on her before going to bed and there she was, lying breathless exactly right at that door as if she had struggled through her last breath to call me, to tell me that she was leaving forever. I still can't forgive myself. If I had been more attentive, she would probably still be alive and kicking. After that night, I've taken a number of wounded stray cats to the vet and sometimes into my home to be taken care of. It's my way of saying sorry to her. There's no price I wouldn't pay to have her back. I miss her so much. And no matter what I do, I can't shake the feeling that I let her down. I might as well have jabbed a knife into her beating heart.