I have been wanting to write about this for a while, but since I have not been writing at all lately, I forgot it. Today I was telling a friend, so I’m going to write this before forgetting again.
If you missed the position, Phoebe (our 18 -year -old cat) died in November. (The publication is here.) We made the decision to sacrifice her when we took her to the veterinarian (she looked terrible and seemed to be suffering … the veterinarian agreed that it was time).
I know that I just wrote the background of Phoebe in the publication about it, but a relevant fact here is how Phoebe became our cat. A mother at the Moms Club in which she was while my children were young were looking for a home for a street cat that her sister had received. We only had Chandler at that time, so we decided that we wanted her.
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| Rose made me this little stuffed forefish for Christmas! The small box contains Phoebe’s ashes. |
Margin note: How nice is that little teenage vase? It is literally a cat for cats. Bahaha, I got it for Jerry for Christmas. [If you know, you know.]
He had definitely had a difficult beginning in life: half of his tail was missing (the tip of what was felt folded, and I imagine that perhaps he was beaten in a door) and had what he felt like a BB (as for a bb gun) under the skin in his chest area. We never knew if it was actually a BB, but that is exactly what he felt, so we assumed that they had shot him at some point. Poor cat!
Anyway, we talked about the BB of Phoebe here and there over the years (I had approximately one year when we obtained it). Curiosity went crazy sometimes: he felt so close to the surface of his skin, and he just wanted to tear it out and know!
As a morbid, he had always planned to ask the veterinarian if they could eliminate him after she died. I loved him for some strange reason. However, after the emotional visit of Euthanasia, the last thing in what I was thinking was to ask for BB. When I realized the next day, I thought it was too late (and definitely somewhat creepy to ask on the phone), so I forgot it.
Until a few weeks later, when I was looking for a place to put its ashes. The idea of the BB went back into my head, and I had the idea of looking for it in its ashes. * I know * this is weird! I really do it. But my curiosity was killing me. I opened the urn and used a magnet to sift through the ashes.
To be honest, I didn’t even think they were Phoebe ashes. How would anyone know if you are receiving the ashes of your pet? I suppose I just imagined the crematorium making a great cremation and dividing the ashes to each owner, because no one would know and would be cheaper. So I didn’t expect to find anything, but I just had to look.
And then…
I found it. The magnet took about 10 seconds to find it.
He was seriously in his ashes! I can’t even describe how I felt when I found it, but it was good. I’m still so stunned that I was there. And I learned that it was, in fact, a BB.
I wanted to share this not only because it is an interesting story, but perhaps if you have doubts about whether the ashes of your pet are really * their * ashes, they have faith in what they are probably. Obviously, crematoriums do their own, but maybe this is a bit reassuring. I have solid evidence that, in fact, I have the ashes of Phoebe!
