I’ve neglected this blog in recent months. Whereas I used to average new, original content regularly, I now have a long string of guest posts and little more. I’ve been meaning to reach out, but I’ve also been hesitant. It’s hard to explain how the loss of one cat has had such a profound effect on so many aspects of my life. She and I had a special bond. I had bottle fed her after finding she’d come home not yet weaned. We’d survived Jeff together, leaned on one another through the abuse and beyond, both coming out stronger for it. She had an expressive face and a unique sense of humor. She was an important part of my life for seventeen years.
You don’t expect the grieving process to begin while your dying loved one is still very much alive, but it begins as soon as you learn the condition is terminal. Caring for Kadie took a lot out of me. Life went on hold. I simply lost the energy to do more than keep my home marginally clean and keep Kadie, hubby, and myself fed—and that lasted for months. I took care of her, at her whim nearly every moment until the end. She was a sweet, funny, empathetic, and obedient companion; she deserved only the very best of hospice care.
When she died, something inside me became just a little duller. Emptier. I lost my fire. I could barely eat for a good month. The 18th will mark two months since her death, and I still can’t even think about moving the scratching posts without fighting tears. Home feels so empty while hubby is away at work. Sometimes I think I see her in the corner of my eye, or I could swear I just heard her meow. It’s not as bad as it was at first, but it still throws me.
Not long after Kadie’s ashes came home, hubby and I decided that a change of scenery would refuel us both, so we packed our bags and took off. We didn’t want to burden anyone with Hue, our leopard gecko, so we put her in a travel tank and brought her along for the ride (and, I must say, she took the trip with the utmost of grace). We drove up the California coast, stopping to swim at beaches and get together with friends and family. I took tons of pictures, getting a few nice shots to remember the drive by. Our final destination was a small town in southern Oregon, where my sister was slated to perform in a local production of Cats, a fitting play to attend given the circumstances. Hubby and I were there for opening night. It was a blast. We stayed with my amazing niece for a few days before heading back.
You don’t expect the grieving process to begin while your dying loved one is still very much alive, but it begins as soon as you learn the condition is terminal. Caring for Kadie took a lot out of me. Life went on hold. I simply lost the energy to do more than keep my home marginally clean and keep Kadie, hubby, and myself fed—and that lasted for months. I took care of her, at her whim nearly every moment until the end. She was a sweet, funny, empathetic, and obedient companion; she deserved only the very best of hospice care.
When she died, something inside me became just a little duller. Emptier. I lost my fire. I could barely eat for a good month. The 18th will mark two months since her death, and I still can’t even think about moving the scratching posts without fighting tears. Home feels so empty while hubby is away at work. Sometimes I think I see her in the corner of my eye, or I could swear I just heard her meow. It’s not as bad as it was at first, but it still throws me.
Not long after Kadie’s ashes came home, hubby and I decided that a change of scenery would refuel us both, so we packed our bags and took off. We didn’t want to burden anyone with Hue, our leopard gecko, so we put her in a travel tank and brought her along for the ride (and, I must say, she took the trip with the utmost of grace). We drove up the California coast, stopping to swim at beaches and get together with friends and family. I took tons of pictures, getting a few nice shots to remember the drive by. Our final destination was a small town in southern Oregon, where my sister was slated to perform in a local production of Cats, a fitting play to attend given the circumstances. Hubby and I were there for opening night. It was a blast. We stayed with my amazing niece for a few days before heading back.
The vacation proved to be a wonderful break from the grief, but a break was all it was. I came home to an urn on a shelf. I have toy mice and catnip pillows packed away in a box I can’t bring myself to part with. A handful of people have insisted I get a kitten to fill the void, and it really only makes me feel guilty that I do not want another cat. I've zero desire at this time to open my home and my heart to another pet. That approach might work for some, but it is not the right one for me. S/he could never live up to Kitty (who died three years ago) and Kadie--no one could right now—and that would affect how I behaved around him or her. It would just be unfair to any animal.
So, here I am, struggling to write. A friend suggested I try some free-writing to get the words flowing. I think this is as close as I’m going to get. Anyway, I want to thank those of you who have taken the time to read my blog over the years. I’m still searching for that spark, something to reignite my connection to the written word, but I’m hoping to have more of my own posts to share with you in the coming months. Thanks so much for your patience and understanding. And, as always, thank you for your readership and support.
So, here I am, struggling to write. A friend suggested I try some free-writing to get the words flowing. I think this is as close as I’m going to get. Anyway, I want to thank those of you who have taken the time to read my blog over the years. I’m still searching for that spark, something to reignite my connection to the written word, but I’m hoping to have more of my own posts to share with you in the coming months. Thanks so much for your patience and understanding. And, as always, thank you for your readership and support.
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