A Year Ago

Stanley 1996-2008

One year ago today, my sweet, little Stanley died.

We adopted him from the shelter on Halloween when he was about 6 months old. (I know, a black cat on Halloween!) We knew that Oliver needed a brother. When they took "Dante" out of his cage and handed him to my husband, Stanley climbed up his arm, walked across his shoulders, and headed toward me. I didn't even touch him. I just said, "He's the one."

Stanley was an athlete who performed spectacular leaps. He could catch sparkle balls and toss them back. (He would also put them in my shoes.) He loved tuna and roasted turkey (and would help himself if given the chance). Stanley was very quiet. You would see his mouth open and then you would hear the delayed, raspy-squeaky meow. He was my constant companion after an extended hospital stay. Day or night, he was by my side. Stanley loved my ears.

We knew the end was coming. The vet said that he wasn't in any pain. We decided to let Stanley live out his days basking in the sun on the patio, rigging up a leash so he could explore within reason. After I would get home from school, Stanley and I would hang out in the hammock or a chair in the sunshine while I studied. We ran a hospice for Stan. Whatever we could do for him, we did.

I found Stanley in the morning. I knew he was gone before I even turned on the light. Everything was too still. I can't remember what I did yesterday, but I remember everything about that day.

My heart was, and remains, broken.