Backstory: a friend of the family (Debbie) recently lost her 16 year old cat (the cat had had a lot of health problems and was close to death a couple times before, recently).
It happened when I was up at my parents' for a visit. (I "knew" the cat a little bit; I had taken care of her on occasion when Debbie was out of town and I was up at my parents'). I think it happened the day before I went back? Anyway, my mom got a sympathy card (Debbie, like me, is a single woman, and I know she was extremely attached to the cat). I got to sign it.
Anyway, I was mostly okay...I felt sad for Debbie, thinking about what she might be going through. But then my mom called and told me about what Debbie said when she buried her cat: she chose to bury the cat with the cat's favorite toy. Which had been a small gold lamé mouse I had made for the cat a good number of years before.
Dangit. I had managed not to cry up to that point.
It's funny how details like that sometimes get to me even when I manage not to be too affected by the overall situation. (I suppose it was that that detail made it a little more real and personal to me. Also, I had made similar mice for both my parents' cats - that was back when they were both alive and were still well enough to play)
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