Posted by kara lynne on April 3, 2004, at 16:52:39
I have never felt such grief. I honestly do not know how I can tolerate it. She was my comfort, my love, my reason to come home at night, my reason to get up in the morning. She slept by me every single night, she wandered into my dreams. I wish with all my heart this were just a bad one.
I am torturing myself for letting her out. She wanted to go out so badly, and she always came back after twenty minutes so I got too confident. It has been four nights, thundering and raining. I haven't slept without her in ten years. I will never forgive myself for letting her out.
I keep thinking I need to go in the other room and get her, or feed her, or pet her. I can't go two steps without being reminded of her, finding her fur, looking at her uneaten food. I would hear her delicately crunching her food and lapping her water throughout the night. I can't describe why these sounds were so beautiful to me. Every morning I would get up and refill her dishes and she would follow me while I made my coffee, sit next to me while I worked at the computer, perch on the sink while I showered. I would move into another room and she would follow me, content just to be with me. Sitting...quietly, lovingly. We talked to each other. She was fiercely loyal. She was the best friend I ever had.
The other night I took her off the warm cable box where she slept while I watched television, and put her in my lap. I gently lifted her and circled my hands around her heart. I don't know why this was so comforting to both of us, but it would make her fall asleep even while she was almost upright, and the magnetic warmth of her purring soothed and healed me.
I let her down. She came to me 10 years ago, feral, starving, deaf, crying. I was at an apartment where I couldn't have cats, and I am severely allegic to them. My friend was on the phone with me when I first heard her cry, and said, "Don't you dare take her in...you can't have a cat, you're allergic, you'll be evicted...". I tried to feed her outside, but she slowly edged her way in and that was the end of that. I paid $600 to keep her until I could find another apartment, and since have lived only in places that would allow her. I spent thousands of dollars over the years on allergy shots, rather than give her away, which became unthinkable. I never have actively chosen an animal, because the concept overwhelms me. I can't pass each cage and imagine one creature is more worth saving and loving than another. I know it doesn't make sense; at least I could be caring for one of them. But Alice chose me, and made it very easy. She was, bar none, the most beautiful cat in the world.
The idea of her trapped somewhere and hungry, or shivering in the cold is too much to bear. Everyone around here knows there are coyotes. In my last place I kept her in all the time, because I saw them close to the house. But before that we had a pattern; I would let her out at night--because that was the only time she ever wanted to go out---and she would traverse the perimeters of her surroundings and come back after a half hour or so. She never went far. She never crossed the street. She loved to smell the outdoors.
I have talked to people who say never to let a cat out period. I have two friends who love theirs the way I love mine and they do let their cats out. One of them said if someone told her she could live forever but had to be trapped indoors she would choose the other option. The other is in an area rampant with coyotes, and her cats are old and fine. She says the mountain is their life. I weighed the options. I spent years being overly cautious. Then in one moment I made one horrible, life-altering decision. I made the wrong choice.
Alice was a different cat when I let her outdoors. She would come back satisfied and serene, I would pick her up and inhale the sweet musk of nature behind her petal soft ears. Last week she went outside on a particularly hot day, and sat next to the porch step, so happy to just be there. I went outside and sat next to her and she rolled on the pavement, landing with her pink belly and white paws splayed out in happiness.
I miss her beyond belief. I miss her beyond repair. People tell me I should just go get another... which would be as easy as replacing a child. I went looking for her yesterday and saw a white kitten playing in a yard, and I stopped to pet him. I hear he might need a home. I go back and forth, I don't want to take him and hate that he is not Alice. But Alice isn't coming home. There will never be another Alice.
My favorite part of the day was getting ready for bed and watching her follow me, knowing that as soon as I did she would jump on my stomach. I would pull her too close and kiss her too much until finally she would squirm away....and then come right back for more. Then she would stay with me until I fell asleep. In the middle of the night I would wake up and look for the warm lump in the bed, and pull her to me again. I haven't been able to launder the sheets yet, full of her fur. She was fascinated with the taking off and putting on of sheets, always managing to get right in the middle of them. I can't bear the thought of putting those sheets back on and not having her get in the way.
I can't imagine ever feeling better. I hate this house without her in it. I hate this life without her in it. She made an already difficult life extraordinarly more tolerable by her very existence. My heart is broken forever.
I love you, little Alice. I miss you. I wish I could comfort you. Please come home. Please know that I love you.
poster:kara lynne
thread:332149
URL: http://www.dr-bob.org/babble/grief/20040220/msgs/332149.html