I still watch for him to run to the door to meet me when I come in.
I miss him stretched across my legs in the bed, nailing me down, and grumping if I move One Bit.
I am lonely for the little guy who sat on the edge of the tub for 20 years, dipping his tail and drinking (bleh) bath water.
I can't eat without looking down to give him one little taste of whatever I have.
I am lonesome beyond all words for my little boy; Wookie died on Friday after a courageous battle with bone cancer. The last few weeks, I hand fed him every bite he ate. The last two days, he couldn't drink, so I held him like a baby and fed him from a dropper. He was in no pain; he wanted to be near me where ever I was -- to the point of sitting in the windows and watching me weed the flowerbeds. He would call until I came back in and held him for a bit. Then, he was satisfied. His final day, he stayed out on the porch, enjoying the outside smells, sights, and sounds. I held him as he died.
The Mister hand dug (no backhoe for this one, he said) the grave over near Kashi, his pal who died several years ago. I placed my little guy, wrapped in the blanket I knit for him and with his cursed brush (how he hated it!) in a hardy storage box covered with roses. We rolled a ginormous quartz stone over his grave, reminding me a bit of Emerson's stone. Many years from now, archeologists will know he was deeply loved.
For 20 years he has been with me and I am so sad and miss him so much. I catch myself looking at the place where his litter box has been for all this time -- checking the place where his food bowl has been most of his life. I am reminded of a quote from Aunt Jane of Kentucky, "Look at this quilt. How can it still be here, but the hand that made it not?" I know he was "just a cat", but to me, he was so much more. He was the tangible connection to the past. He was someone I could love without reservation, without guard. While he would feign his annoyance with the whole petting and kissing thing, he loved it and I know it.
A friend said to me that it was unkind that God allowed our pets to pass before us. It is true; it is unkind. But I keep hoping that when I get to the other side, God lets me have the animals I have buried. If not, would it be heaven? We were created to care for these creatures of God; surely He will allow us to continue. I hope so.
Good night, my little man.
