And Then There Were None

And then there were none...and it was a very sad week.

Even though yesterday was the first anniversary of the day we closed on our loan for the new house, there was little celebrating. I looked down at my lap, and it was empty.

I looked on the floor, 

next to me, on the sofa, 

on the table,

even in the tv stand, where she used to hide in the shadow next to the speaker with the digital clock on it. 

But she was not there, and at every turn, I almost forget that she's not going to be there anymore. And I'm sad. Because I liked the feel of a cat in my lap, under my knitting.

I liked knowing that, even though this one was more of a jerk than sweet, like her sister,

 

it was comforting to know that she was there. To know that she would be there. And now she is not.

As her final gift to me, she passed with her very annoyed, and very familiar, "What the H-E-double-hockey-stick?" scowl on her face...if you knew her, you know the look.

It's gonna be ok, and I'm gonna be okay, but first I'm gonna be just a little sad. 

And then I'm gonna laugh at that last memory, because why would that jerk-face cat go in any other way? She never really trusted people, any people, let alone her favorite people. But she had been so lonely since we put her sister-cat down, so sad and lonely that she also got sick, and it was her turn. 

They say that the last loving thing you do for your pet is knowing when to let go...and as much of a jerk as she could be, I loved her. I will miss her. It was time. 

Now, I think I'll go knit for awhile. I won't worry about a cat stealing my stitch markers or sucking on my alpaca yarn, or even stuffing her head into a sleeve... I'll just knit for a bit, in peaceful grief, until I process this loss so I can move onto better times.

I sincerely hope that your week has been more fun than mine. Whether it has or not, I hope you have some knitting, or other comfort, at hand to get you through. 

Thanks for stopping by, and Knit in Good Health.