Hello World

Our best buddies are with us for what seems like such a short time. Over and over we hear wonderful stories about great pets. We created the Memory Wall to give our customers a place to write down their thoughts and stories about their pets who are no longer with us. Here€™s our first story: Remembering Tank I knew something was wrong that Sunday morning when Tank didn€™t make his usual appearance. Every morning, without fail, Tank would join me for my morning ritual of brushing my teeth, washing my face, and getting my running clothes on. He would purr and rub and bat at the end of my toothbrush; I would pet and coo and scratch his chin. Tank was aptly named. He was a grey tabby, weighing in at 18 pounds. I always wondered if it was a self-fulfilling prophecy €“ that if we had named him €˜Tiny€™, he would have been half the size. A vet once said he looked like a bob cat. Despite his girth, Tank was a gentle giant; a loving companion with a sweet spirit. It€™s hard for true animal lovers to put into words how we feel about our pets. They are part of the family, with all the rights and privileges of the humans they share their lives with. We co-exist: we get to know their habits; they get to know ours. But perhaps the greatest miracle of having a pet is how we communicate without ever saying a word. More than anything else, I€™ll miss €˜talking€™ to Tank. Tank was very affectionate. He loved to be picked up €“ it started when he was a kitten. A friend said that if we wanted an affectionate cat, we should pick the cat up and hold him in our arms. Apparently it worked, because Tank loved nothing more than to be picked up and held. When he wanted up, he would stand on his hind legs and stretch imploringly. Once he was there, he would snuggle and purr, quite content to stay as long as you would have him. Like any cat, Tank demanded attention on his terms. Like when we€™d be working at the computer, and Tank would sprawl across the desk right in front of the keyboard. He would alternately drape himself across the equipment, or monopolize your arm with rubbing and kneading. Either way, the only work that got done was what was on Tank€™s agenda. That fateful Sunday, we took Tank to the emergency hospital because he was listless and lethargic, too tired to get up for our sacred morning routine. After a diagnosis of necrotizing pancreatitis and four days of rapidly declining health, we made the decision to end his suffering. I guess you always wonder whether you did the right thing €¦ to end a life so dear to you €¦ a life so intertwined with your own €¦ knowing that no matter how many pets may come and go, there will only be one Tank.