So tomorrow morning someone is coming to take Thomas home. And when I say “home” I mean to his new home,where ever that may be. A “home” that isn’t my home. For the past two weeks (since I found him) he has depended on me for food, water and shelter. He depends on me to clean up his litterbox. I’ve given him baths, I’ve given him things to play with and disciplined him when necessary. He’s grown comfortable around me and I’ve come to know his personality. I know what makes him purr, I know what scares him. He knows when I want him to come to me. He knows my voice. I know how to make him come out from under the bed.
Tomorrow someone is just going to come and take him away… and I’m going to let it happen. I feel like I am betraying him by not telling him. I haven’t actually told him. I haven’t told him in my own language and not in any other way. There’s no possible way I could make him understand what is going to happen anyway. I feel so bad about not explaining it to him but at the same time I am relieved that he will no longer be my responsibility.
I’ll miss the little jerk. I know I will. Still, I know it’s better this way. He will go to someone who wants him. Everybody has been saying I don’t seem like a cat person, or I don’t seem to know how to take care of him. I’ve had cats before. I could have given him a good home. I know I could have (and would have) have given him everything he needed and more but at the same time I would resent having that responsibility placed upon me like a ball and chain (please excuse the cliche). I don’t want to have to sacrifice my own happiness to keep him happy. It just doesn’t make sense for either of us. So I did the responsible thing and found him someone else who wanted to give him everything he needs.
I didn’t do it because I hate him or don’t understand him.
Just the opposite, in fact.