Things in my house have slipped into a routine following Bear-Bear’s death. In fact, they slipped into a routine quite easily. I think it’s because the situation caused by his illness was extraordinary, and life wants to be ordinary, so after the BB left, my world reverted to what it had been.
That doesn’t mean that my long-cat isn’t missed. Each morning, when I leave for work, I say good-bye to my beasts, my remaining foster-cat, Cammie, included, and I find there is something amiss in counting only five fuzzy heads. You see, what my world reverted to was not a world without Bear-Bear, but a world without his sad and deteriorating condition. It remains a world with him in it, but he’s not there.
It feels as though he is somewhere that I can’t find him, and that I’m excluding him from all my activities, that he’s being left out. I’m sure that sensation will fade, and probably soon, but until then, I feel as though I’m turning my back on the BB.
But there is still plenty to do with my other cats. None is sick, thank goodness, though Tungsten continues to require her hyperthyroid medicine, and I am learning about feline kidney disease. I think that will involve my tiny terror more and more in the days to come.
The cats still surprise me. Not long after Bear-Bear passed away, I woke in the night. There are usually three cats, sometimes four, on the bed with me these days, all the perma-cats except Tungsten, who joins me half the time; the other half is spent in the warmth of her heated cat-bed. I don’t blame her for that. Tucker, Renn and Josie find their special spots on the bed and hem me in as best they can. My Chubs is normally right against me on the near side of the bed.
I woke this night, as I usually do each night, at some point and, as soon as my eyes opened, saw Josie’s white face staring at me in the gloom. She was purring. Most of the time - in fact, always - the Great White needs petting to purr. Her motor starts more readily than it used to, and more frequently. But it normally needs to be revved up by stroking. Not this time. This night, she was simply looking at me and purring.
Thank you, Josie.