The Cosy Apartment’s library was Minuet’s ‘safe-room’. Most cats who are integrated with the household leave the library and explore, then settle in with the rest of the population and find their spots around the apartment. Min never did. She would go on short journeys now and then, but she never remained out for long. I wish she had, but that was her choice. After the jarring change from her home of sixteen years to this foreign environment, she had a right to stay where she was comfortable. She had her food and water, her litter-boxes, her comfy spots, and a window, if she chose to view the wider world.
For the past seven months, I would glance into the library every time I passed its doorway. Sometimes Min would be sleeping, sometimes she would be awake and look up when I passed, or give a little ‘maow’ at me. When she did, I would enter and spend at least a minute or two with her. Since she was deaf, I didn’t want her to think that the sounds she made weren’t being heard.
Now, as I pass the library, I keep looking in. Only her teal-coloured blanket and a litter-box have been removed, yet the room looks much more spacious, as if something grand was missing. Something grand is missing.
I will be contacting everyone who has been kind enough to leave a comment about Minuet’s death, and thanking them; it may be on their blog, if they have one, or it may be as a response following their published comment on this blog. In any case, I am gratified that Madame was known by so many, and that so many appreciated her presence on Earth.
Singling anyone out is invidious, I know, but I must thank Ingrid of Meezer's Mews & Terrieristical Woofs, and Ann of Zoolatry, for their beautiful artwork and their time and effort in creating the badges that will now have their places of honour on my sidebar, where they in turn will honour Minuet, and the others who have gone on ahead.