Dear Karma,
I spoke with my therapist today. You might be wondering why I talked to a human therapist when I had perfectly good furry ones in the house, but you know how it is. One furry one is too spastic, and the other two are too busy hanging out together.
It went as well as you’d expect. I might as well have been calling to cancel my cable subscription, as much as it felt like he was reading from a script. Nothing useful came from the conversation, and it only made me feel even more alone.
Anyhow, today marks one week that you’ve been gone. If we want to get specific, it is … *checks* … exactly one hour and two minutes away from when that final injection is given to you.
I tried to tell my “adopted human” why I was sleeping on the couch. To explain that it was nothing involving him and me, rather, the couch where I spent every night with you while feeding you every 1.5 hours, and the place where we slept a whole night straight together the night before you died, just snuggling as we used to when you were healthy.
I tried to explain that the rational side of my mind knew you were gone, but that side tied to my emotions can’t give up the couch yet, because that’s admitting that you’re really gone. And I’m not ready for that yet. Maybe when you come home from the vet this week, or after I place you in your final resting place.
Side note: I think you’ll like it. It’s a small, concrete, hand-painted black cat in loaf mode. You loved hanging out in loaf mode. I have to hand-paint some white furs on the chest and engrave your name on the bottom, but it’s pretty great. I’ll write a letter when it comes so you can see a picture of it.
I think once those two things happen, you’re back home and you’re at rest, then I can go back to my bed.
But you know what he said? “So you’re not coming to bed tonight? Whatever, I’ve gotten used to sleeping alone.”
I have a feeling you’d have bapped him for that if you’d been here.
I’ve tried reaching out on Facebook groups and tried looking for local groups, but nothing has panned out yet. So I’ll keep sending you letters and reading the books I bought that might give me some comfort.
But it’s not the same without you here.
The evil side of you is probably all “Haha! Good! Because I’m awesome.” And you’d not be wrong. But really, sweet old girl, it’s not good, because I’m missing you so much.
And, so far, I’ve no one to talk to that I think really understands. Some folks at work are close… they have pets they love dearly… but I feel like I’d be overwhelming them with the pain. So I stay to myself, for the most part, finding things to do to keep me distracted.
I’m leaving soon to go to my sister’s. We’ll see if that helps. She had a huge loss. But I don’t know if she’ll wonder why I feel as badly about you being gone as she does her husband. I guess I’m about to find out.
Oh, and one more thing, something a little more positive. I came up with a metaphor regarding my “heart house” and pets that I think you’ll like. I wrote about it on Facebook, but I want to fine-tune the theory and maybe even create some art to go along with it. I can’t wait to show it to you!
I love you, you evil little monster. And I miss your purrs so much.
