I’ve been trying to compose my thoughts for a post about the loss of our beloved Carrot, but the words just piled up in my head and wouldn’t come out in any coherent fashion.
He’s been gone a week, and it’s been the hardest week … pretty much ever. I’m fairly certain it’s because of how he died. If he had been ill, or old, it might not have been so hard. We would have done everything we could to save him, and while his death would still hurt, it would be mitigated by the knowledge that we’d done all we could.
But when he climbed, unnoticed, into the clothes dryer, there was nothing we could do. When Loki found him, there was nothing at all to be done but try not to collapse under the weight of a whole world of grief and guilt and pain. I feel like I’ve spent most of this past week crying. I’m still not done.
I’ve been going through pictures today, and watching videos, and remembering our fearless, endlessly curious, dog-loving, snuggling cat.
I’m remembering a particularly awful day at work that was blurred and fixed by a small orange-and-white cat crawling up onto my neck and purring so loudly it drove everything bad away.
I’m remembering the way he used to drape himself across my shoulders and try to nap.
I’m remembering him chasing Freya like it was the best game ever, and I’m remembering the look of delight on Fenris’ face when he realized that here, finally, was a cat that would play with him.
I’m remembering a cat who could be kind of a bastard sometimes, but who was loved and petted and snuggled regardless, and who will be badly missed, every day, forever.
And yes, I’m posting this on my birthday, but I finally felt able to write something … anything … about the way our new year started, and today has definitely been colored by that, and denying it or ignoring it wouldn’t have helped.