|My beautiful girl.|
In my mind, I know she's gone. But, whenever I start missing her, I automatically reach over to where her bed was next to me. And that's when I really miss her. So, I think if I had a super plush stuffed animal, I might feel better having something soft to pet whenever I need comfort. What really worries me is that I wonder if I might just carry it around all day.
To retrain myself, I've purposely been doing things I couldn't before. I leave the closet door open all night, piles of laundry on the carpet, and just now put my lunch plate on the floor. It's a reflex to resist all these things.
|My, what big ears you have!|
I write the following facts for the reader, because knowing them doesn't make it any easier on me, anyway. But telling the funny stories might.
Cleo had been sick on and off for a couple of weeks and had stopped eating, drinking, and pooping. She had an extremely tender spot in her abdomen, and had already experienced a lot of muscle loss. I couldn't afford to run the tests that might pinpoint her illness, and I wasn't going to keep her hanging on through months or years of continuous treatment. So let's call it cancer.
Cleo was 15 years old. Yep, that's getting up there for a cat. I got her when I first started teaching in Las Vegas. A cat show lady on the airplane once told me she thought we was part Egyptian Mau. She was the most gorgeous spotted tabby with a raccoon tail that I've ever seen. She was a big girl, and at her heaviest, my mom said she looked like a beaver. When I picked her up to go to the vet, she felt like a rag doll.
She loved only me. She tolerated a couple of people but actively hated everyone else. I knew I was doing the right thing when she didn't even hiss as they took her temperature at the vet. She was really practiced in the art of showing off all her teeth to friends, relatives, and strangers. People wanted to love her with her pretty eyes and baby kitten meow. I felt sorry for them, because it'd kill me if she wouldn't let me pick her up and love on her.
|This is as close as Cleo got to enjoying the outdoors.|
|Love that fuzzy, spotted tummy!|
As she grew out of kittenhood, I thought she was depressed, so I got her what I thought she needed: a kitty. Josie was never really my cat, she was Cleo's. She'd groom her, worry about her when she got her head stuck in a kleenex box, and take a back seat to her play. She didn't seem cheered up, so when I moved to Portland I gave her away. Other than a disastrous experiment with a roommate and her cat, it's been just the two of us ever since.
|Enjoying a drink a water from the window.|