Death Is A Dirty Trick

One of the things that is hardest about putting an animal to sleep is the dishonesty of it. Poor little thing is suffering and wants help, but there’s no way to communicate it can’t be given, and that you are sorry, but really you will be doing her a favor. You pick her up and walk out to the car, let her ride with you out of the carrier, she snuggles and loves and purrs and watches the world go by, never knowing she is looking for the last time. She looks up at you, looking for reassurance. She trusts you. You can’t bear to watch (because the last time you did it did not go well for anybody in the room), so you hand her over to the vet and she fully expects to come back to you, only this time she does it in a little cardboard casket.

It sucks big, hairy donkey balls, stuffed with kidney puree.

I know that Christian tradition says animals do not have souls. I don’t think we can say they don’t have an energy that lives on after death.  I equate them with angels in the sense that they do not have to actively choose to follow their creator. Therefore, they are not subject to the same laws of sin and sanctification. I cannot imagine that creatures capable of such a level of love and devotion simply cease to exist when they die, and I actively choose to believe they are alive and well in whatever the afterlife is for them. They weren’t created in God’s image, but they WERE created for His glory and enjoyment, and I pray with all my heart that my Elsa is chasing butterflies and wrestling with other babies in a sunny field of tall grasses right this very second.

Elsa, you never stopped fighting, and you always loved in spite of the indignities of medical treatment. Thank you for allowing me to capture you and bring you home, and thank you for softening this jaded heart with your smile.

RIP, my sweet little ginger angel.

Elsa the Ginger Kitten