and then I suddenly just cry because I miss the little blue lady. I keep seeing her everywhere. Making note of her insulin shot times and to close the door to keep her away from dry food. I keep expecting to hear her click across the floor(old lady claws). I feel guilty about the relief I feel over not having to worry anymore if I am going to wake up and find her dying or very ill. I miss her and wonder if we should have tried a little more. I think maybe we shouldn’t but I wanted to. 17 and a half is a good long life and she was loved every minute, even when she preferred (as she usually did) the significant men in my life (R and J) more than me. I know she loved me and I hope she knows how much I loved her.
I know my grieving is odd for some people, they don’t understand perhaps my need to be alone with my guilt and sadness and the void in our home. Thank god I haven’t gotten the “it’s just a cat,” statement or I think I’d inflict grievous bodily harm on the speaker. Still, I know I feel this in a way that seems extreme to some. So be it. A friend is gone and I miss her. It doesn’t matter whether she had fur or skin, a friend is still a friend.
The last of my group that I raised from my early adulthood (and their kittenhoods) is gone now. Hotspur, Newg and Ninny. My three kitties that got me through college, grad school, a nasty divorce, remarriage, childbirth and moving all over the country. My three best friends. I’ll always miss them. Always.
