I Miss My Cat
I miss my cat. Her name was Wendy, and unfortunately she passed two weeks ago now. I've had family pets before, but Wendy was the first one that was really my own. My wife and I got her at a shelter about five years ago. She was already an adult cat at the time, they said they thought she was roughly four years old but they weren't sure.
As we spent more time with Wendy and learned her habits and idiosyncrasies, we would try to come up with different backstories for her to explain them. She was extremely food-motivated. She was very cuddly and friendly to people, even people she was meeting for the first time. She seemed to have claustrophobia and avoided being in any kind of enclosed space. She did find comfort sitting under tables, head covered and visibility on all sides. She hated cardboard boxes and loved to sit on tissue paper. What kind of cat is totally averse to cardboard? We discussed many possibilities. Personally I think it comes down to one of two likely options.
- Option one: grandma cat. Some sweet old lady who was very affectionate and not inclined to skimp on the food or treats, but possibly a hoarder with piles of unstable trash a curious kitty could find themselves trapped by if they were not careful.
- Option two: street cat. Scrappy. Never knowing where her next meal would come from. Maybe lived in the trash and discarded newspapers or something like that. Having to get by on her wits and her charm, she learned to play the friendly cat to lure humans into giving her food.
It certainly would work on us. Sometimes if one of us would sleep in, the other would feed Wendy in the morning and we'd have to leave a note before heading out. "Wendy has been fed!! Don't believe her lies!!". If she thought she could get away with it, she would try doing her little breakfast song and dance twice. She was so annoying in the mornings. We spent so much effort trying to get her to shut up (it was 7:30! she doesn't get fed until 9:00! have patience! I'm trying to sleep!) but that's how it goes. One morning you wake up and realize she's never going to meow and scratch at the door again and it just hurts. How can I miss something so unpleasant so much? I love Wendy, all of Wendy. Even the unpleasant parts.
I miss my cat. Some days I think I miss her too much and I'm overreacting. Some days I think I don't miss her enough and I'm a heartless asshole. I don't know what to feel. I don't know what I am feeling. For a long time I've struggled with feeling like I should feel a certain way, and pushing "bad" feelings away instead of just focusing on how I'm feeling in the moment. On one hand, she's just a cat right? It's not like I lost a child. I can't even imagine how devastating something like that would be. I have been lucky enough to have never experienced a loss like that. So in the scheme of things, one cat, I should be able to get over it right? On the other hand I'm not ready to be over it. Wendy was special and our time with her was fleeting. I can allow myself to grieve. Soon the weeks will pass into months and the months into years. This will be a fading memory like all the rest. Right now I'm sad.
I know in my head that I'm still young. I still have plenty of time left for losses more painful than this. It just serves as a reminder of how much I have to lose now. It's funny how fast your perspective can change. In some ways life is easier when you don't care what happens. When you're willing to just throw it all away. I have no desire to go back to that but this hurts in a whole new way. I am keenly aware of how far I've come and how far I can fall. Opening my heart to love myself and those around me leaves me vulnerable, and vulnerability is terrifying to me. I'd like to believe I can love the world more than it can hurt me. For now I guess I'll try to take it one day at a time, and I miss my cat.