With the Cat Gone

Dear Friends,

Waking up this morning, I want to make my cat sounds from the bedroom, where I know she'll hear me in the yard. Sometimes she answers me, sometimes not.

Yesterday afternoon when I drove up to the house, my eyes went automatically to the left hand corner of the garage, where I'd see her little black and white body appear as soon as she heard the garage door open. She'd never come for simply loving - she'd only come for food - but that was the little one.

I think I especially loved talking to her. That little black and white kitty brought forward a part of me that doesn't often come out. I had special names for her. From the time I walked out the back door until my car pulled away, I would be talking to her, whether I could see her or not. I knew she's hear my voice, and maybe it was a comfort to her. It was a comfort to me, anyway.

I guess she's not really gone, at least inside of me. I still expect to see her, paws up on the window, begging to be fed.

Every loss brings up other losses. When I mourn the cat, I mourn all the others who are gone, as well. My parents, my beloved aunts and uncles, my dear friends Sue and Harvey and Marilyn.

May your day be rich - filled with mourning, the tears of mourning, and the joy of today.

Joy to you.

meb

Ever