No Use

I am still broken-hearted about the cat. At the end of a second evening spent mostly weeping, I am starting to feel a bit foolish, but whenever I think about her I feel so racked with loss and a terrible sense of responsibility that I don't know what to do with myself. I can't bear to think about her suffering but it's just desolate to imagine home without her pootling around in it. I didn't even get to say goodbye.
Using her name seems to grieve me particularly. Twenty-four hours ago it was the name of my pet cat and now it's a word that refers to a memory of a cat I once had. I can't bring myself to write it, so I will just call her my cat.