Wednesday, March 14, 2007

The Little Things

My mother told me she received a card from the vet's the other day. Nothing fancy just a simple little message to let us know they shared our grief. An empty gesture, really, but as nice as they can make under the circumstances. But my mother wasn't thrilled by it because she was getting over it and the card served as a reminder. Not sure if it made her cry or not but I wouldn't doubt it.


And I can understand because it's the little things that are keeping me from passing my own grief. I'll be fine until I realize that I'm heading upstairs to look for the cat. I'll check and see if her bowl needs watering only to find that it's gone. And I have that horrifying moment of loss all over again. I'm hoping that I'll eventually learn differently but she was such a fixture in my life for such a long time that I can't quite escape her place in my routine.


For example, since it's been so cold out (And I can't help but think if she'd only held out a few more days she might have enjoyed the recent weather. Had one more trip outside or one last afternoon spent on a windowsill sniffing at the outside air.) at my mother's house she'd taken to sleeping by the heating vent in the bathroom. Rather than let her rest on the cold towels, I moved her favorite bed in there so she'd have something comfortable to lay on. It quickly became her nesting spot and she'd spend hours curled up in a ball with her tiny head resting on the side, looking sleepily at the world. At first, we tried to move her out whenever we needed the bathroom for something other than a catnap. I'd just pick the whole bed up and dump it in the hallway, cat and all. But inertia and expediency meant that before long, she'd be in there whenever I was taking a shower. And whenever I'd step out she'd grunt at me as if surprised to see me. Just a friendly murr as she stirred and went right back to her dreams. The other day, I was in the neighborhood and stopped by my mother's for a quick shower and that bathroom was never emptier. And I don't think I'll be able to take a shower in there for some time to come.

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