Friday, 15 April 2016

Pets are not for Pussies

So the mirrors are shrouded, the curtains drawn, the blinds down, the bf and I are wearing ash on our faces and are dressing in black.  I think I cried more for bean than I did when my mother died.  I was of course totally hollow when my mother died, but I have internalised her so that she never really left me, but look I am not going to try and justify my skewed emotions, I am just sad about a bony little bundle of scrappy fur who chatted to me all day, followed me round the house, tried to eat my yoghurt out of my bowl, was irritating at mealtimes, loved butter, got his foot stuck in the toaster, couldn't jump for toffee, and fell off things all the time, and who often got his claw stuck in fabric and would just sit there, for hours, with one paw tangled, waiting to be rescued.   What does that say about me - that I care more about an animal than most people I know?  Or maybe it says something about the people.  The wonderful thing about an animal is that a) they are just beautiful and lovely to look at, perfect little beings with little souls and cute, teddy-like little faces, b) they demand nothing from you except food and pats (when they are in the mood) c) they are nature's valium as they just look so fabulously restful when they curl up and sleep like its their olympic sport.  d) they make you laugh.  People are generally none of those things, not particularly pleasing to look at, usually want stuff, and when that stuff is food you can't just pour it out of a sack marked Kibble, they make you tense, anxious, annoyed and irritated, and they love you with buts.
Poor little kitty was almost home - just by the back fence, and I keep thinking, just one yard further and he'd have been safe, but there's no point in that.  Anyway.  I never had pets growing up - thank goodness.  How can people think they are a good thing because they teach children about loss?  Who wants that lesson?   

Bf has had a hernia op and is sitting at home, when not weeping (yep really weeping) he is being 'careful' not to do anything taxing, like lifting a broom, or a cushion.  He will be back at work on Monday but I fear his tender body may not be back to normal, as in 50% idle as opposed to 100% idle, for some time.  He took a lightbulb out of a flickering socket and can't stretch to put it back.  He was the one who went to get the kitty, found him stretched out and stiff, wrapped him in a towel and took him to the vet.  (might have overdone it a bit walking round there, he said) and when he got to the surgery, the vet was closed.  He then had to go to the doctor to get his stitches out, and thought he'd have to sit in the doctor's waiting room with an outstretched kitty corpse, wrapped in a towel.  Luckily, he rang the vet and they came and let him in. 

I put his bowl away and the other cats go round sniffing, looking for him, watching out the window all the time.  The house seems so empty.  Sigh.  Anyone would think we had never known real hardship.