My first husband and I were divorcing. Between us we had 4 cats, all of whom we adopted together, all of whom would stay with me. After a few months of caring for them, returning to college full-time, and working part-time, it became quickly apparent that I couldn’t take care of them because I had very little money with which to feed them and take them to the vet.
So one day, my ex-husband and I met in the yard of the building in which I lived. We were standing outside, and it was time for me to make a very difficult decision: which 2 cats I was going to keep, and which 2 would go with him. I loved them all equally. Having to decide which 2 to “give away,” was utterly gut-wrenching. I finally decided on Valentine, who was deaf with all white fur, and Phoebe, who was a little, gray tabby. That left Hopper and Basil, a tuxedo cat and a Siamese, both of whom lived to be 17, with me.
I have no doubt that Valentine and Phoebe have crossed the Rainbow Bridge by now. This all happened over 20 years ago. I thought about them from time to time; I still do. Maybe all 4 of them have been reunited and are playing together once again. I’d like to think so.