And somehow – between friendly neighbourhood cats, such as Cat, aka Kitteh, who foist himself into our house, running across the living room thru the open door and straight upstairs to my pillow. My waking and seeing a cat on the other pillow.
Then a few months later he and his people moved away – and a couple stints of catsitting and finally death is an old bruise, like seeing a photo of someone who died 20 years ago.
There’s a resolution to cherish the now and the meow.
To have a cat about house? The hubbykins wants. I waver. Waking up with a cat on my chest sniffing my chin and feeling the giggles rise out of my sleep…something’s shifted.
A lot of the grief was the helplessness of illness, the frustration of not being able to help as everything Valerie wanted to eat she’d try but vomit it. The irritable bowel, the vomiting, the inserting IV, the indignities, the way death smelled up close as it got closer and further. It’s daily caused me more stress than I realized at the time.
We took her in during her mid-life. She still had kittenness within her. She had cleverness and mischief and scheming. She was complex and comforting and mean to her roommate cat. Why did they have the falling out I’ll never know. Her illness overwhelmed her life in my memory but finally that’s receding and I can see her life past it.