When I have the sorrow of loss, I am frantic inside for someone, anyone, to make the pain go away. I watch TV shows with strong figures who always seem to have the answers and make things right, and I long for someone like that in real life, though they don’t exist. Well, strong and capable figures do, but no one has all the answers and can make everything right. There is no Jethro Gibbs. (And even he can’t bring back the dead, or he would.)
I know it seems immature and silly to sob, I want my cat back, but I want my cat back.
One of the other kitties seems to be having some breathing issues — she’s breathing hard and I think maybe she either has asthma or she’s really upset about all the trauma around here lately. I can’t handle another sick kitty right now. Or afford one. Otherwise she seems fine, so I will just keep an eye on her.
And the dishwasher is making clanky sounds. Nooooo! My life is so improved by not having to do my least favorite household chore.
As much as I hate getting up in the morning, and though my cube has a picture of Boo in it, I think going to work in the morning will be helpful. It’s cut and dried and I can concentrate on numbers and dates and not consciously mourn Boo or worry about Zoe all day. This is a high price to pay to not be feeling my usual Sunday night dread, though.
In odd kitty news, Simone sat with me most of the evening on a chair she rarely sits on, head-butting and purring and patting me with her paw, and then she licked clean my toast plate. Boo always cleaned my plates and Simone never has….