Rocky Shubba

Words cannot describe the pain, the anguish, the sorrow that I am feeling right now. My baby boy, Rocky, died in my arms yesterday. I think it was a heart attack he suffered. He was 17 or so, but we never really knew because we got him from a family in Germany who found him and his brother in a dumpster. To the day he died, he was afraid of the sound of plastic bags. I have had the most wonderful pets in my life and I have loved them all so very deeply. The passing of any of one’s fur babies is a horrible thing to endure. It is the final bill that must be paid for a life filled with love and companionship. It is an excruciating debt. He was special, in so many ways. I have never met a cat, or an animal, or a being quite like him. He was whip smart, loyal, affectionate, and even magic at times. His exploits as a younger boy are legendary in my family. He was my daughter’s cat at first, and when she left, both his and my hearts were broken. Then when my marriage was over, he was all I had left. We were both so lonely, but we had each other. I will miss him so very much. I don’t know what I will do without him. I will never forget you, my Rockadoo. Your daddy loves you, with his whole being. I will miss you so very much.