So much began with Finnegan, the cat. He unknowingly facilitated our relationship with the historic house on the May River and our happy years there. I’d say he was the ”catalyst” for all that but it’s a bit too punny. Even for me.
Finnegan was plucked from the old house because one member of his original family was seriously allergic to him. Word went out that he needed a new home. Our son and his family adopted him. He thrives in their midst. Some might say that he over-thrives. Finnegan is, well, shall we say, fat. Quite fat. Adorably, deliciously so.
As the Mister and I move out of the old house, our son and his family are moving in. Finny is going home. We hope he’ll enjoy the cool river breezes and fishy marsh smells. Just like he did. Once upon a time.
But now this. Finnegan is sick. Too sick to recover. He won’t make the trip back to his original haunt. His family must let him go where he won’t be in pain.
So, Finnegan won’t begin again. At least in the corporal sense. But I’d put money on his ghost showing up. That old house doesn’t forget anything or anybody. Especially a cat who was, and now we can say it, the catalyst for so many happy times.
Finnegan. Rest in peace. You were loved.