I miss Mowgli so much today. I have been here, in the Atom Mill town, since Monday, and the first night was just awful. The second day was kinda melancholy, and the past couple of days were okay. Today, however, I am aware that Mo is not at the vet, or in another part of the house, but gone. I’ll never get to hold her, or rub her fur. She’ll never purr in my ear again.
Freddy seems to have “claimed” me. He seeks out my attention, sits on my lap, lies next to me on the bed, and loves it when I rub the base of his tail. I’ve never seen a cat’s butt go so far up in the air. He is lovely and soft, affectionate and sweet.
But he’s not Mo, nor would I wish him to be.
Esso used to say, “home is where the cats are.” No. Home is where the Mowgli is, and Mowgli isn’t here anymore.
“It’s not supposed to be easy. If the death of a beloved pet ever becomes no big deal, I’ll know there’s something terribly wrong with my heart and that I should never have a cat again. The measure of our grief is the measure of our love. It’s the price we pay. Much as it hurts, I think I would rather suffer through it than to miss out on the joy of my cats.”
(from another blog I frequent)
I’m sorry for your loss. Little critters sometimes make the biggest holes in our lives.