I’m sad right now, because I’ve had a long and difficult week at work, and I’m tired, and I’m sitting on my couch watching the news and waiting for Sasha to come out from under the couch. When she does, I’m going to put her in her carrier and take her back home to live with my family.
She’s unhappy. Last week she seemed like she was doing fine, but ever since the ductwork adventure, she’s stayed under the couch all day long, and then at about ten at night, she’ll come out and walk around meowing and looking in all the rooms for, literally, hours at a time. I think she smelled home on me when I got back on Sunday and she’s looking for her littermates. She doesn’t really want to play with her mice and she isn’t eating much and she doesn’t want to come sit next to me on the couch like she did last week. She hasn’t been misbehaving at all, because she’s a good cat like that. But she’s not happy, and so she needs to go back to her family, and that makes me really sad because I love her and I don’t want her to go.
And I know some of you reading are like “whatever, it’s just a cat,” and I guess that’s okay. But she’s my cat, and I love her and I want her to be happy and content. She needs to be at home where she can wrestle with her sisters all day and look out the windows to the woods and sneak out of the house every now and then without getting run over by a car, where she can find safe places to hide that aren’t heating ducts, and where she can beg for table scraps and curl up on my dad’s chest at night when he’s watching TV.
It’s not fair to make her stay in this big, beige, scary place all day by herself.
Sometimes, doing the right thing seems so much sadder and more difficult than the alternative. But it still has to be done.