Here in the aftermath of suddenly having no cat, things are strange but generally all right. I spent the last few days cleaning the hell out of the house and disposing of Quinn’s things - her scratchers and toys I mostly threw away, but her meds are being divvied up among rescues and friends, and her leftover food will be going to the Seattle Humane Society whenever I have time to drive out to Bellevue. I sent her favorite rattly mouse (a gift from her auntie Suzanne) along with her, as I was told that it was okay. It will return to us along with Quinn’s ashes, in a little box that we’ll put beside the urn that holds Spain the Cat.
These are not acts of erasure, but acts of closure. The business of death, if you will.
In time, we will either adopt again or somekitty will undoubtedly fall into our lap, like Quinnie did. But whoever comes next deserves their own stuff, or that’s my feeling about it.
People keep asking about the dogs, how are the dogs taking it, are the dogs all right, and the answers are difficult to know with any certainty but here’s my best effort: at the routine events where Quinn was typically present - meals, bedtimes, first thing in the morning, etc. - sometimes they sniff around like something’s missing, something isn’t right. Sometimes they don’t. If you forced me to ask, I’d say they’re a little confused and maybe a touch bummed, but generally okay.
She was part of the pack, but a peculiar part who occasionally drove them both bananas. (She was always a bit of a weirdo, if I’m honest. Even so far as cats go.) The dogs knew she was sick. They knew the vets came for her. They know her litterbox is gone, and so is her food. Even if they don’t fully understand what happened, I think they know she won’t be back.
Neighbor cat still comes by every morning. I still give him treats, and will continue to do so. He still keeps me company while I do yard work, and hangs out on the porch - but not for as long as he used to.
Things are settling into routine again. It’s a much simpler routine, and the weather is beginning to turn for the better so I’m distracting myself with cleaning up the yard, planting and transplanting last year’s survivors, cutting new beds, tending to the early starters, and generally turning my attention to the business of life.
The seasons don’t stop for one lost cat, and they will leave me running behind, struggling to catch up, if I don’t roll with them. (There’s always a new season, for the rest of us, while we’re here.) So while we continue to decompress and adjust to the idea of a cat-shaped hole in our days, we also start a new week tomorrow. (There’s always a new week.)
Tomorrow I’ll resume the daily dog pics on social media, and I’ll get back to work on my projects-in-progress. It beats just sitting here. Right?