I was sweeping my bedroom when I found an enormous, I’m talking embarrassingly large, wad of cat hair under the bed. And I was sweeping it into the dust pan, getting ready to dump it into the garbage, when I realized–this is the last of Stella. The last of her I will ever touch.
And it made me so sad. I took it outside and let it blow away.
Bah, life and love and crap, you suck.
Tiny Cat Pants 
So sorry, B.
I’m sorry. It’s hard. There’s so much of Eddie around here. He’s still all over my sweaters and it’s kind of hard to pick those hairs out now.
It’s weird. She obviously hadn’t been well (her whole life she’d had weird health issues) and there were the seizures and that one night she was bleeding from her mouth.
So, it wasn’t really a surprise, on the one hand and I was a little sad but also like “Oh well.”
But something about finding that pile of cat hair just made it real to me in a way that I’d been avoiding.
My wife and I shampooed the carpets this weekend, which removed the final vestigial remnants of the hairballs of one of our faithful and dearly departed.
Call it synchronicity. But I get what you mean.
I’ve had a similar experience with a lump of soft, downy black dog hair. Only I couldn’t let it blow away.
My heart goes out to you.
I’m so sorry. If it’s any consolation it probably isn’t the absolute last – that animal hair gets into places you’d never guess. I’m still finding hairs from my great dane who has been gone for nine years. Later when you find the hairs you’ll laugh, I promise.
We were still finding hairs from Stephen’s beloved white German Shepherd on our sweaters when we moved into our current place. And we hadn’t seen her in three years.
I have vomit stains that I hope never go away. Sometimes being a crappy housekeeper is it’s own reward…..