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Today I Had to Tell Georgie George Had Died



Today, I had to tell Georgie George had died. I wonder if he understands what that means. Perhaps to him, it just means the ginger cat won't be here to compete with him anymore. A triumphant story of the undercat, or it seems.


Georgie had overseen the death of two cats. One is my own cat. When Georgie came along, my father shifted the affection toward Georgie and my own cat died slowly out of depression (and he just quietly sit on my lap the day before, and finally accepted my affection). Then George came along. My father once again, liked the newer cat, and Georgie suffered the same injury my own cat endured because of his aid.


And now George is put to death by his legal owner (our cross door neighbor), I wonder how Georgie would feel. He had been both the mistress which accelerated the death my own cat, and through the act of karma, he was also the bullied. Except this time, he outlived his bully. Is he really happier to be a survivor? Isn't that a twist of fate?


Both cats who died were remarkably beautiful cats. That also makes me wonder if being beautiful really has any effect on our final destination. After all, life is fragile, an anomaly. My cat suffered through depression (no matter how much I loved him, he just couldn't overlook that my father preferred Georgie), and George happily meowed and leaped into his legal owner's hands, into his death. No matter which way, depressed or happy, they are both beautiful goners. The plain Georgie outlived them both. Be gracious we are still alive, because we'll never know how the fate could turn on a whim.


I still don't have the heart to tell my parents that the cross door neighbor took him to vet to get a vaccine is really a euphemism to have him euthanized (how could she lied to my mom and then told me what she was about to do, and told me not to tell my mom?). At the same time I have to endure the terrible secret in me. I know if I don't tell my parents eventually, it will kill me to see two bowls of kitty kibbles being filled every morning, but only one bowl will be bothered.

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I am sorry for the loss. But, I really want to say something and don't take it the wrong way. Here it is. You should write about the cats. Like in a metaphorical real life cat story. You are so attuned. I can see a good writer sleeping there. Hugs and Chocolates.

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Maybe George was ill / infirm and it was a kindness to have him euthanased? Maybe if you feel conflicted you could tell your cross door neighbour it's wrong to ask you not to tell your mum and dad the truth?

It's very upsetting when you lose a loved companion. I've had three pets euthanased since childhood - all dogs - to stop their suffering due to infirmity. I held and comforted them and then buried them in the garden. I don't think I could go through that again. So I know how you're feeling *hugs*

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Thank you both for the kind words.


It is a metaphor of some sort (I think it's an allegory), Asam, though it's a true event. I was using the true event to allude to a "what-if" event, so it's the reverse of a typical allegory. I forgot to add a crucial line at the end. Don't you think it's a grand irony they should have the same name? I think I will try to put this into the story which is meant to be my final, very mature work, as a detail that alludes back to the main story line to reinforce a concept.


*eats chocolate Asam offered*


Zombie, she was having him put to sleep because of his aggressive behavior. The owner told me very specifically. The vet bills of her two other cats due to the injury caused by George are too substantial and that's the reason. She was very convicted to put him to sleep..., she didn't want to negotiate with me, and she wouldn't tell my parents herself. My parents are still speculating why George hasn't come back yet from the vet.

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Happy to know you are already working on it. Hope we read it soon. *Sending loving happy thoughts your way*

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