It's been three weeks and one day since I put Mommie to sleep. In some ways, I've already forgotten her and moved on. There isn't unendurable pain. It's not fresh and raw and sharp. But...
The other day, I was getting ready to go to work and did a quick "cat count" before I left. I saw Cat sleeping on the bed, Bug sleeping on the patio chair and Tommie's face smiling at me from behind the living room chair. But, I rushed all over the house, panicked, because I couldn't find Mommie. Suddenly, I remembered she was gone. Fresh grief.
Sometimes I still call out to her, "M - O - M!" I don't believe she can hear me. It's more that I'm afraid of forgetting my darling kitten.
I feel guility because I don't look for her every day. It doesn't cut me up when I don't see her sitting inside the front door when I come home. I don't miss her any more when I wake up. I can't remember the details of her face. The memory of her meow is already dimming.
And yet, last night I read my rembrances of her and couldn't get through it without tears crashing down like a waterfall.
I kept thinking I'd get a little stone or box to remember her, but I can't yet. She's just a damn cat, but I loved her. I was crappy at being loving to her most of the time, but I did give her a moderately safe place to live when no one else would. And, in point of fact, she chose me. Maybe that's why I miss her--because she's one of the few things in this world who chose me.
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