It’s been almost a week since she left, quietly going to sleep and not coming back. I’ve noticed her not being here at the oddest of times. . . when I’m eating dinner I miss the conversations we used to have. When I’m lying on the couch, I miss her climbing up onto my stomach and resting with me. I notice that I don’t have to brush white hairs off of my black wool coat anymore.
It’s odd, after all these years, to not have her here.
My cat died last week. After 14 or 15 years of keeping me on my toes, she just went to sleep and didn’t wake up. It was a comfort, in some ways, that she passed on that way. There was no pain in her face or posture. She was stretched out in the sunshine, apparently resting. Until I reached down to pet her and realized she was cold.
I notice that I have more leftovers after a meal. She used to take care of those for me, patiently waiting 2 feet (no more, no less) from my chair until I threw her some scraps. If there were shrimp on my plate, she’d inch closer and then grouse at me if I called her on it.
Everyone was entertained by our “conversations”. “Mischief, you are TOO close, step back” I would say. She’d make a little noise that sounded suspiciously like a bark and stay. “Don’t you talk back to me, you KNOW you’re not supposed to be that close! Step BACK!” Grumbling, she’d inch her way back, watching me the whole time to make sure I didn’t trick her by throwing food her way while she was doing it.
Her favorite trick was to hide in the cabinet under the bathroom sink and wait for someone to come in and use the bathroom. When she heard the door close, she’d wait a few moments and then pop out to see who was there. If you didn’t know about the trick, it could be pretty startling.
Mike put a stop to it after she caught him off guard a few times. He took one of my hair scrunchies and wound it around the two door handles so she could no longer get in the cabinet. She continued to try, but wasn’t able to get it open with that in place. So, she moved her trick to the bathtub.
She would come to a whistle, like a dog. And sit on command like a dog. I trained her to do that with Kraft Slices. She would do almost anything for a Kraft Slice. Last year, I taught her to beg, also. Well, sometimes, when she was ambitious enough to lift her front paws all the way off the floor. Not an easy task for a cat her size and sometimes, she was just too tired or lazy. On a lazy day, she’d give a half hearted half hop and then look at me to see if she got the cheese.
Ah yes, old cat. I do miss you sometimes.