Shredding Old Paperwork

There's a box in my home office filled with papers I need to shred. Stuff both The Husband and I have been holding onto for no reason, some dating back to before we met.

The box is full, and I haven't made much progress in emptying it because it's a chore. Dropping paper into a shredder isn't difficult, but it's boring. Our shredder is so loud you can't do anything entertaining like listen to music or watch TV while you use it. You just sit there feeding page after page through it until you die. 

So, I keep putting off this project, and when I do get around to it, I do very little at a time.

It's raining today. The barometer is off the charts low. I don't feel like doing anything else, so I grab a handfull of folded up documents to dispose of them. 

Things are going along swimmingly until I unfold a veterinary bill from 1991. It was for my first cat, Cat 1.0. He was a kitten. I was still single. My maiden name was on the document.

I can't bring myself to shred it. He's been gone for most of two decades, but still, I just can't destroy this stupid piece of memory.

So I set it aside and unfold the next piece of paper which is, of course, another Cat 1.0 vet document. And another and another.

There is a progression in the dates. I note the different addresses where the cat and I had lived. My married name starts appearing on the bills. I look at one and think, "Oh yeah, that's when The Husband and I bought our first house." There are annual vaccination certificates.

I should have seen it coming. Dates. Dates. Dates. The time is passing. There is a progression.

I unfold the page that isn't an annual exam or a vaccination. 

The only box checked on the long list of potential service is "Euthanasia".

 

I fish a manila folder out of the desk. Mark it with Cat 1.0's real name, and tuck all of his papers into it. It is very much like laying him to rest all over again.

No. Can't bring myself to shred those today.

Maybe never.