Not silly at all, GB. Sorry man. :(
HF:
My best friend was named Camille. In 1992 I went with a friend to the Anti-Cruelty Society in Chicago so she could pick out a cat. While she was choosing, I hung out with a few cats including this fierce Russian Blue who clung to my lap and would not let go. Not in an affectionate, purry way, but in a "#### you, you're my person now whether you like it or not" way. And so she went home with me. I named her Camille after the sculptor Camille Claudel, because she was gorgeous but also FLIPPING INSANE.
She never much liked anyone else, but when I came in the door she greeted me every evening. I could stand anywhere in my house and yell "kitty cat" and she would come running from wherever she was. She slept in the small of my back.
She was a much better judge of character than I was, and she greeted most boyfriends with something between disdain and outright hatred. Occasionally she liked one, which she signified by (1) not trying to kill them, and (2) allowing them to pet her...but only there and NOT THERE NOT IN THAT SPOT but yes there, only there. I should have listened to her more in her opinions.
She got a mast cell tumor in her spleen about 11 years into our time together, and I was told that even after its removal it would reappear and kill her within 18-30 months, because they always did. Except with Camille, who lived another five years thereafter out of sheer force of will. When she went, she went quickly...just lost her balance one day and I took her to the vet and that was it. She looked more deeply at me than I'd ever seen from any creature and let me know it was her time. I knew it but was too devastated to admit it, deciding to give her one more night to get better. And of course, she died during that night.
I mourned that cat in 2008 and sought for years to replace her. For a while I thought I needed a cat that looked just like her, but that wasn't it. I wanted one who was fiercely loyal to me the way she was, but that wasn't it. And then in 2013 after the loss of Mr krista's favorite cat and best friend, we adopted The Squib.
Squib is nothing like Camille. Where she was grumpy, he is sunny. Where she hated most, he loves all. But ####### it, that cat is the one who has filled the void. He follows me around and tricks me into taking a nap when I DON'T NEED A NAP, SQUIB. When I was on a business trip, I jokingly asked Mr krista if Squib missed me, and he said, "I think so - he's just carrying your slippers around in his mouth while you're gone." And ####### it, if I'm lucky I'll outlive him, too, and it will ####### kill me, and it will all be worth it anyway.
I guess I don't have to womansplain what I'm saying here, but just in case...I'm not saying go get another dog tomorrow. I'm not saying it doesn't hurt or it doesn't matter or that any creature can be replaced by another. But I do think that what you have to give is irreplaceable and that you're going to give that again, and feel all that great stuff again, which is going to be (if you're lucky) followed by all that awful stuff again, and the great and the awful are all intertwined into what makes life worth it.
Sorry I sound maudlin; I've been drinking.