This morning our cat, Cammy, passed away. I heard her calling out and found her on her side in a dark corner of the kitchen, somewhere she used to like to sit. I got Jess and we sat with her there and then she died. She was 10 or 11 years old and lived a full, good life. We are sad, but okay and strong and we’ll be fine.

Cammy had to go somewhere, so I was calling around. Apparently when cats die and you have to take them somewhere you get to choose between “cremation” or “private cremation” (where you get to keep the ashes). Penn was too expensive, and I was uncouth enough to ask if I get a discount with my PennCard. Whatever. Banfield was ready to do it for $25, so we hopped in the car and headed over there.

Oregon Ave. PetSmart on a Saturday at 11 AM was kind of a shit show. Collective Soul’s “December” was playing, a song of terrible magnitude with sleepaway camp associations. We walked straight back to Banfield, Cammy wrapped up and tucked away in a red Salvation Army thrift store bag. She was our Cam.

After a harrowing 10 minutes of waiting (Jess recalls “I was ready to start ripping stuff off the shelves”), we filled out the form and passed Cam along. On the form there are two checkboxes for “Private Cremation” or “Mass Cremation”. Seriously, “Mass Cremation”? How insensitive! Way to make your mourning pet owner think about their cat in a pile of dead other cats on fire! I guess that’s how they get the extra $120 for the “Private” version.

Banfield bitterness aside, I am at peace. Cammy didn’t suffer and we did everything we could to give her a good life. We’ll miss you.