life according to me

life according to me

The sun did come up today.

I need the sky to be grey and angry looking. I want the wind to blow and rain to fall. But it’s blue as far as I can see.

I don’t want to hear the kids at the end of the block playing in the cul-de-sac. But they’re laughing and screaming at one another, having fun.

I want the trees to be bare like they’re supposed to be in the winter, and not green with signs of spring already.

I’m not in the right frame of mind for blooming and regrowth. Sprouting and budding.

I thought it might be good to bury my head in the pillows until about noon, but knew that was never going to happen. And once I’m awake, the last thing I want to do is lay there and think. Not today. Especially today.

I headed for the bathroom acknowledging my numb around the edges self, knowing that I wouldn’t see Blackitty, and wondering whether my ugly, red, puffy eyes could actually squeeze out more tears. They felt like they wanted to. And right when I could feel the wave of grief begin to wash over me, the door nudged forward and my dog’s big golden head and soft brown eyes pushed into the space, tentatively, seeking permission. Her cold wet nose bumped against my knee and I could hear the thump of her tail against the vanity as I scratched her head to say thank you for continuing Blackitty’s routine. A very nice dog.

So amazing.

The poor Yack Star has been howling since last night. It isn’t continuous. It comes and goes, and we can hear her move from one place in the house to another. Searching.

Last night, she seemed to want some comfort, but she’s never been a lap cat, so she’s struggling to figure out how to do it. As we were mindlessly flipping channels, she got up on the couch, positioned herself onto one of the back pillows, settled in between us and went to sleep. Clearly she is lonely and already missing her companion of 10 years.

Companions Attached at the Hip One stops and the other begins.

She waited by the back door this morning to go out. Blackitty and she did this every morning just to smell the air, walk around the side of the house to sniff the bushes, sit for a few moments and then come back in. It was just one of their rituals. But today she didn’t go out when I opened the back door. And when I went to the front, she followed me and seemed to want to go out that one instead, hesitantly. I went out with her, watching. She stood looking back at me, yowled a few times and then went back to the door, wanting in.

I can hear her downstairs right now. I wish I could help her.

Waiting to go out.

In a few days, the vet will call and I will have to go and pick up Blackitty’s ashes. Having filled the backyards of my life with animals we’ve lost, I didn’t exactly plan this, but it was offered, and I no longer have a backyard. It seemed just right for a cat who was afraid to be anywhere but in the house.

Thank you so much to all of you who took the time to send your lovely thoughts and warm words. It was a special part of my morning, and I am very, very grateful to you all.



11 thoughts on “The sun did come up today.”

  • Kelly, We are never leaving this house. Never. Ever. If you want a special place to leave Blackitty that you can ALWAYS return to, forever and ever- you are welcome to that here. Just a thought.
    A.

  • And your dear sweet dog knows, that must have made you smile for a second.

    The first part is so right. That’s why it’s a relief when there is a funeral for it to be raining. You should plan a proper eulogy for Blackitty when you have the ashes.

  • Well, now that I have read this post (and your previous one), I think it’s a great idea of having Blackity’s ashes in the house with you! I wonder what we should do with 17 yr old Butter? He spent his early years outside, but hasn’t been out willingly in 10 years. Perhaps, we could do the same with him. I have managed to keep him alive for 2 weeks now (after his visit to the vet), mashing up his cat food, lefting him in and out of bed to have snuggle time with me, and bringing him downstairs to sit by the fire. He looks a lot better, but I think it’s because of the antibiotics that will, most likely, wear off soon. He actually came all the way downstairs two nights ago, by himslef, and stood in the familyroom and looked at me as if to say, “aren’t you coming to bed?” We were all so shocked!!!

  • A, how lovely of you to offer a place in your yard. And even better to imagine that you will always be in that great house. Quite a life’s accomplishment! I’m not sure what we’ll do, but I’m thinking he’ll stay right by me, just like he always was when I was home.

    Paisley, I can picture your “bubby” right now, and am warmed by the idea. Thanks for letting me know.

    Paintergirl, I’m not very good at any of this, but when the RTR was very young and we lost our good friend Holis (also a lovely black cat) the Moh, RTR, and I sat on his bed together and read The Tenth Good Thing About Barney and bawled our eyes out. I guess that was a eulogy of sorts…

    Lori, I agree about Butter. He’s even been more reclusive than Blackitty. What do the girls think about it all? Has he been your cat more? And Butter coming downstairs makes me remember all the hunting Holis did right before he went. After spending a quiet life satisfied with watching birds, he decided he’d catch a few and would leave them on our front door mat like presents, sitting there waiting for us to praise him for it. Keep me posted on Butter. Hugs.

  • Keep Blackitty with you until you are ready to do soemthing further… Maybe a place on the bookcase where he seemed to love to sleep.
    Hugs from K’zoo.

  • This too will pass and one day you will laugh at the antics of your lost companion. The laugh will be a sad laugh yet filled with joy, if that makes sense.

    Until then hugs to you.

  • Barbara, thanks for thinking of us. It matters. I appreciate that you stopped by.

    Ritzy, I thought of your beautiful Zeke. He’s always reminded me of Blackitty. How lucky you are to still have him and enjoy his company. I think the bookcase is a good suggestion. He loved it there.

    Cooper, I know it will pass. I’m in awe of the intensity of my feelings right now compared to when I was younger. It is only that, is it the specialness of this particular pet, or a combination of both? It all makes me feel so very old. But you are right. It will ease with time. I do know that.

  • Iam so sad for you, your men and precious. You were loved by that big fat cat. There are now words to make you feel better, only time.

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