Day 4
Evenings are the hardest. Minnie used to come and sit on the couch and demand tummy-time from us. She was such a cuddle bug. Now we sit on the couch alone. No little cat sauntering around the corner with her tail in the air and a chirp/coo for us.
Bedtime is even harder. No little cat jumping on the bed. I wake up in the middle of the night and there is no warm furry body tucked between my legs, or snuggled against the back of my knees or hogging my partner's pillow. Theoretically, we should be sleeping better because we don't have to maneuver around a little cat. But in reality, we are both sleeping poorly.
Mornings are hard... oh heck... every time of day is hard! But mornings... for me... in particular. I get up early and Minnie would get up with me. We would play toilet-paper balls... I would wad up a piece of TP and toss it towards her. And she would leap and jump and then bat it around. But no more. Our chair time is gone too... those 10-15 minutes where I would sit in the reclining chair in my office and she would join me for cuddles. I would scroll the news and she would lie there and purr while I rubbed her tummy. Yes, I know... she loved to have her tummy held and rubbed... not your typical cat.
So there is a gaping hole... multiple holes... in our day to day life. We keep expecting her to arrive in a room demanding attention. We hear a random noise and think it's her. But it's not.
We worked in the garden yesterday on a warm, sunny spring day. In the past, Minnie would have been out there with us, dressed in her uber-fashionable harness and dragging her bright blue leash behind her (so we could find her, even when she hid under a bush). She would patrol the perimeter of the back yard, surveying her queendom. Chewing grass. Watching the humming birds. Chasing bugs. Sunning herself. But there was no little cat yesterday. We don't have to worry about leaving the back gate ajar a bit while we go in and out. There is no cat to escape. We no longer have to stand up suddenly and go... "Where's Minnie? Have you seen Minnie? She was right there... and now she's not!" And then we would scamper around the yard calling her name, searching for her, terrified that she had jumped a fence or... something. And we would find her, sitting in some obvious place but blending into the scenery so well. We could almost hear her little voice: "I'm right here? Hello? Right here!"
Such a big presence... leaves such a big hole. And nature abhors a vacuum... but we are not getting another pet. Not for a while. It's a hard decision but we are both adults... we should be able to make these hard decisions. Doesn't mean they aren't still hard.
Day 5
This was the hardest day. I went to the vet with all of the leftover cans of prescription cat food, the meds she never used, the unopened bag of renal kibble. As I walked in the door, holding a stiff upper lip, the three receptionists all looked up and compassion flooded their faces. They all knew who I was and what had happened. And I burst into tears. The receptionist on the left, I know a bit better, because she comes into Starbucks every Saturday morning and we have chatted in recent months. I sobbed out why I was there and took the stuff and told me to go home. She would look over the stuff and calculate the refund. No need for me to stand around waiting. Which was very kind.
And so I drove home through a veil of tears. It's only food and meds. But to walk through those same doors... when the last time we had been there... we had left without our little cat. It was hard. So very hard.
Day 8
We went back to the vet... to pick up her ashes. There were more people and we stood to the side. Waiting. She came out in a little paper bag and we took her back to the car and cried. Not as hard as bringing her food back. But still hard.
Now we have to bury her ashes. One of these days. But we aren't ready yet. Not yet.
Day 25
Yes, a bit of a gap. Not because we don't miss her but because I was working 12 hour shifts and then was out of town. The house is still empty. And it all feels so unreal. We STILL expect her to jump up on the couch, or see her snoozing in a patch of sunshine.
Today, it is Saturday and I am at Starbucks. The receptionist from the vet came over to chat for a bit. Have we thought about getting another cat? Oh, that's a hard question! Of course we have. And yes, I am the weak link. I see posts go by in my Facebook feed for the local SPCA... cats needing a loving home. We could offer that. And yet... we have been cat parents for 23 years... with a brief gap between Spooky and Minnie. What does life look like without a pet. We don't know. The receptionist gets it too... she asked if we had kids, and I said no and she nodded sagely... "she was your kid". Yes, she was. And she won't be easily replaced.
Here's another interesting tidbit. We received one condolence card in the last 3 weeks. Acknowledging the loss of Minnie. From family? No. From close friends? No. From a blogger pen pal that I have never met. Interesting. We message on WhatsApp. They don't have kids either. Perhaps that's why. They get the potent impact of losing a pet who was so much more than a "pet".
So we grieve. Still. Yes. Still.
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