I don't know about you, readers, but over the past few years I have become something terrible: a complainer.  I look back and I'm just not sure how it happened.  It happened gradually, that much I know.  Just a constant whine seemed to come from my lips-- or worse, a slight hint of anger.  And even my humor began to have a slight serrated edge to it-- instead of a quick tongued wit, I had a dagger of opinion.

Now, as terrible as that all is-- at least I noticed it.  And that is a huge thing, that I know.  So many people change gradually and they themselves do not recognize it-- I, dear readers, recognized it.  And my subconscious was trying to turn back the clocks and find out just where it all turned just a little grumpy.  Where it all turned a little sleepy.  And dopey.  Yep, I (somehow) had become all of the seven dwarfs all on my own.  Hell, with my pale skin and dark hair I was even Snow White.  Yep, that girl who would take an apple from a really creepy looking stranger.  Yep.  I had lost my way, if only a little.

Of all the things I've gotten wrong in the past few years, there were a couple of things I got right.  One of which was finding the beautiful condo I live in-- I'm lucky to even have it--it's beautiful, and in a neighborhood that could not suit me anymore if it tried.  And the second was my choice of furry companion.  When I moved into my new abode a few years ago, I went to the local pound to find a furry friend.  And there, I came across the most beautiful, elegant grey and white tabby whose big green eyes and demeanor simply said "Yes, I am a lady."  And she was perfect for me.  She was still wearing a bell collar that had been given to her by her previous owners (who had dropped her off in the shelter's 'overnight' box).  The vet deemed her to be about a year old.  I named her Emma and took her home with me.

She was everything that I could possibly ask for.  Affectionate.  Elegant.  She never climbed onto things or walked on my counters.  She would sit majestically on my couch when people were over for dinner.  She enjoyed a good conversation.  She liked to be adored, but never pleaded for attention.  When someone less than favorable walked over the threshold, she simply turned her back and made it known that she did not approve.  She was not only my best friend, she was my baby.  We were a pair.  And when I was sick, I always woke up to her cuddled on my pillow above my head, protecting me.  Watching over me.

In the mornings, she ran alongside me to make coffee and eat breakfast.  She sat at my dining room table with me while I wrote blogs and countless emails.

This year she turned four, which in the cat sphere of things is still a baby.  I had come from a household where animals lived incredibly long.  Where cats passed 18, where St. Bernards passed 15.  My dear Emma and I, surely, had years ahead of us.

The past few years have been emotionally stressful for me--if only hidden behind closed doors.  And the one who was there for me, with me, was Emma.  She was one of those cats that clearly was a person that had been turned into a cat by some local sorcerer.  She was beyond cat.  She was human.  She was my friend.

As you know, dear readers, up until a few days ago I had been in Europe for two weeks.  Lovely London museums, Peter Pan, yadda yadda yadda.  I made phone calls inquiring about my cat, texted frequently to ensure she was fine, and  the response was always the same: she's a little sad, but she just misses you.  I hated to leave her, but I knew I'd be back soon.

And when I got back four days ago, I noticed that my beautiful Emma was lethargic.  Not playful.  Sure, she was mad at me, but surely she'd get over it in a day or so.  Emma was forgiving and she loved me.  And the next day she wouldn't eat.  And as I laid myself down on the floor next to her, hearing a faint and tired purr-- I knew something was wrong.

The vet took my baby from me.  Said she needed an IV and needed blood tests.  And I didn't get to say an official goodbye because I thought to myself: she's only four.  She's fine.  She just missed me.

And the next morning, I lost her.  She died at the vet's.  Without me getting to say goodbye.  And I had missed the last two weeks with her.

The vet was kind enough to pull me (sobbing) aside and told me that she had a virus much like Leukemia, she would have had it her whole life and I wouldn't have known it--and that he knew she had just waited for me to get home before passing away.

So, today marks my Emma being gone for two days.  And I am sitting here writing alone.  And I have decided to not take anything for granted anymore.  It may seem silly, this love for a cat-- but she was my family.  And my house seems empty and my writing seems heavy and my coffee just doesn't taste the same.

And I miss her more than I can possibly express.

I've heard many people in the past few years mention how people are getting pets and not having children.  That there are now pet spas and pet hotels-- and surely that's so silly and people just want to waste their money.  And maybe I would have slightly nodded a half-assed agreement to that sort of talk a few years ago.  Not that Emma ever made it to a day spa, because I could not afford such things.  I don't think it's people wasting their money.  Maybe it's extravagant, sure.  But, I think it's finding a companion and really loving it and taking care of it.  Some of us don't have families where we are living.  And our pets are our family.  To each his own.  Love the one you're with.  All of that--take into account, because it's true.

I have not read this best seller, but I have seen the film and I really enjoyed it.  There was obviously a reason that it maintained its place as a national bestseller for so long.  That book is called MARLEY & ME by the journalist John Grogan.  It's an entertaining and heartfelt recollection of his family's life with their dog Marley.  I think I'm going to put down "Dracula" for the time being.  And I'm going to pick up "Marley & Me."  I'm going to read it because I've heard from numerous sources that it's wonderful.  I'm also going to read it, because this week I'm giving thanks to the universe for giving me Emma for the past three years.

Yes.  The past few years have been tough.  But that's nothing.  I had Emma, which made every day end well.  And I'm grateful for the time I got.  And for everyone who loves their pets out there (and I know there's a lot of you, I saw you at the vet's this weekend)-- give them an extra snuggle and a kiss and maybe an extra treat.  And don't be grumpy.  They love you.

"No animal should ever jump up on the dining-room furniture unless absolutely certain that he can hold his own in the conversation."  -Fran Leibowitz