St. Francis de Assissi

[fatrockstar]

Every time I think I'm calm enough to not be shaken by the thought, something comes up. Today it was going to the grocery store after work and thinking "we should get home to feed Grady or he'll be really pushy," only to remember that he's gone.

Then there was the "sanctuary box" I moved to the master bedroom a while back and forgot about. When he truly didn't want to be touched or was spooked he'd go there. It was an understanding we had -- if he's in that box, no touching of any kind. The box is huge and set on its side. One of the flaps inside has been pried away from the others so he could bat at a toy mouse.

I piled up a bunch of cardboard scratching palettes in the office tonight. It's funny how I remember buying every single one. "Oh, Grady has worn out his old one," was usually what I was thinking. At the same time I was doing that I found a couple of cat toys on the office doorknob.

Everyone tells me I was a good cat "mom." You did the best you could, they all say. I guess I did. It's all anyone can do for their animals, right? There's that strange bit of unfinished business he and I had, though. I keep wanting him to come back so he can get better and show him I can straighten myself out. I know he won't. I'm not delusional. I simply miss my little buddy.

I cannot promise bridges made of rainbows
Or tell you more of where your soul will be
All I have is gratitude love and many tears
and the prayers of St. Francis of Assisi

So far the hardest part of Grady's passing has been coming home. I keep expecting to hear his voice behind the front door telling me to «get inside already! I've been home all day and you are seven minutes late with the gushyfud, lady! Come in! Come in!» The silence weirds me out. A lot.

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[i-am-mischief.livejournal.com]

I understand. I wish there was more I could say. But I do understand.

I still see Psyco in my peripheral vision once in a while. Occasionally, he visits me in my dreams