Precious Henrietta, Four weeks ago, I let you out at 8:30 for your nighttime romp, and that was the last time I saw you. I knew something was wrong when you didn't come in to eat at 10 o'clock, but I had no idea just how wrong things were.
Henrie, were my last words to you kind? I got past the guilt of almost, but not quite getting you to the vet, and even made peace with the fact that you were probably captured by a wild animal. It's awful to think about, but at least having your broken collar returned to us gave us some indication of what happened to you...and some sort of closure.
But there was a hustle and bustle going on this summer with the kittens, the remodel, the kids being little, my birthday party, and a thousand other things. I was spinning so fast, so distracted. Henrie, I know we connected a little before you were gone, but how many other times did I move you from your favorite new chair or say, "Not now, Henrietta, you'll get to eat later." Or, "Move, Henrietta." Or, "Stop growling, Henrietta, the kittens are only here until we find homes for them."
Well, now the kittens will stay with us, and they are sweet, but I still want you back. Of course I want you back! You were my first baby, I got you when I was a new bride, just moved into my first house. I was so excited to get to have a pet. And I was so proud that I got to adopt an adult cat. Kittens are great, I said, but adults cats NEED a home. You were about 3 years old. And already persnickety, yet always in your sweet way mellow and accepting. It was fun to teach you how to play and get up on the bed. I never let you out until we had kids, but I always made sure you had a sunny window. And then, of course, you needed your sanity when the kids came, so it was scary but fun letting you out and seeing what sunny spots you would find.
I always thought I would get to nurse you into your old age, and I wasn't looking forward to it, but I certainly wasn't done cuddling you, brushing you, feeding you, looking into your jade green eyes with your expectant expression, looking upon your beautiful coat, or hearing your darling meow. And I was so relieved to know that you weren't done with me either; that you would have come back to your dinner that night, if only you could have. And then you would have curled up against me on the bed, and I would have drifted off to sleep hearing and feeling your purr.
I thank you for what you have taught me about grief and loss. I thank you for what you have taught me about living for the moment and holding those near to me, oh, so close. I thank you that even though I will still tell someone I love the words "not now, I've got to..." that I will try to remember the gravity of it. It had better be for a very good reason, and not just because I let myself get too busy. I was too busy for you this summer, thinking I had at least three more years with you. I knew I would brush you and pamper you when the countertop was in, the kitchen was unpacked, and life settled down. All those things have yet to come to pass, yet you are gone, and I would love to take a moment for you. I would get a picture of you on your chair. I would give you lots of treats. I would put more blankets out for you to find. I would brush your coat. I would cuddle you and pet you and carry on a conversation with you. I would never let you out that front door at night. You are far too precious, and far too vulnerable at your age. I would tell you that I love you and leave it at that.
So, while I have friends and family in far worse situations than I with loved ones on dangerous secret missions, others with sickness, loss, pain, or family turmoils, I can't help but feel a little bit broken. I miss you, Sissy, yet I can hardly believe that you are gone. My hackles rise when I hear a dog bark, a catfight or a bird screetch outside. I run to get Nina and the kittens back inside. They are not willing. They don't understand. The night air is fresh and cool; the stars are out. It's so pretty. They only go a few feet farther from the house than you normally did. But I'm a little bit broken, so I flinch and bring them inside, even in the daytime. It's a little bit desperate, I know, but time will heal.
3 comments:
So sorry you lost your kitty! We have a kitty too, that we dearly love, and I just went to check to be sure she was inside and safe when I read your post.
Thank you for your sweet thoughts. I have seen a picture of your cat (perhaps on your blog?) - she's beautiful.
Your blog is awesome, by the way. I was trying to comment on the kids growing up and encountered technical difficulties, but I will try again.
Ohhh, Your words speak to my heart and remind me of the pain losing my precious Zero. We just found out what happened to him. We were talking with one of our more distant neighbors, who walks her dogs by our house every morning and likes to stop and talk to Melanie. She told me of a cat that she burried aroud the time of Zero's leaving us, that had to be him. I am now more relieved that he had a proper burrial by a loving person. She watched him get maulled by a huge dog, which is what happened a few weeks ago to the darling, ever so patient with Melanie, white cat - we called Blanco, that adopted us when Melanie was born. That poor cat has been sat upon so many times by Melanie, but always ran to the door or gate to meet her when she got home.
Thank you for your wonderful words...
PS. Melanie loves preschool too. She always runs to get her backpack and give me kisses good-bye just like she has been doing it for years. These girls of ours are growing up soooo fast. Monday night, Melanie went on her first swim lesson without me or Jason being in the pool with her. I was nervous that she wouldn't hold on to the edge of the pool and follow the instructors directions but she did great. It made me realize that she is more independent than I know.
Post a Comment