Misha

Misha on the front porch, catching some sun and watching birds

I had to say goodbye to my long-time companion, my beloved cat Misha, last week.  This beautiful black cat found me and adopted me as his one-and-only person, and rescuer, nearly 13 years ago - the night before my birthday in 1997. Unlike superstition he brought me only good luck...and the unconditional love and trust of the kind our pets give to us.  I valued his more so...because wherever he'd been, he'd been badly abused.

Other pet-lovers will understand the pain and loss of losing a "member of the family."  Even though he didn't make much noise, the house seems overly quiet and much too lonely.  I still find myself looking for him when I come in the door (he would usually come to greet me...or try to "escape" outside even though he was an indoor kitty).  At night, sometimes I imagine I still feel his weight and warmth at the foot of the bed. 

I still can't bring myself to move his favorite "blankie" from one of his "nests" on top of the cedar chest in my bedroom.  He so loved soft places - especially blankets.  I always thought it was so funny how, if I took a blanket and wadded it into a nest, and dropped him on it...even if he was being cranky or irritable, it was an instant transformation into purring, happy, bread-kneading pussy cat.  And Misha loved canteloupe, ice cream....and bacon!

My mom always says it is so hard because we usually outlive our pets, and it never gets any easier to say goodbye.  This was so much harder because I had to make the decision to let him go.  I could not bear to let him suffer and try to keep him here for my own benefit.  But I am humbled by witnessing his last little shuddering breath.

Goodbye my faithful little friend....I know you will be waiting for me still when I cross over.

Existing on the Edge of Consciousness

Sometimes I think my whole life is like that, not quite "real"...and often a struggle to create and maintain my "reality".  It's like, when I listen to Celtic music, I respond as though I can almost, but not quite, understand the words.  Life sometimes seems that way too, as though I feel I should know and understand how to deal with it, but I am missing some crucial information somewhere along the way.  I often feel adrift, and even the few things that "ground" me, such as people I love, or my house, or my job are still ephemeral and could vaporize in an instant.