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"Not mine but mine"
Since I moved into this house late last year, "Mama", one of two cats I inherited from the house owner, has been staking her claim on the roof of my truck, which sits under a carport out of the rain and there she's spent all of her nights and most of her days, sleeping and high enough above everything to keep a watch out for whoever or whatever might try to sneak up on her (or me I tell myself) it is a proper thing for a watch cat to do.
However, since she began to feel ill about a week ago she abandoned her perch, I assume because in her weakened state she didn't have the strength to make the leap from the ground to the hood of the truck so she began resting on the carport's floor.
Late last week as I was passing the mudroom door I looked through the window and there she was, of her own accord, laying in her usual spot on top of my truck. I thought it was a sign that she was getting better.
It was not.
Mama died just a short time ago, not an easy death but I was there with her telling her it was okay and that I love her (I do) and thanking her for just being this little life in my life.
Never again will she greet me at the front gate when I arrive home from work meowing her hello and, probably reminding me to fill her food dish. No more will she follow me into the back yard where I just intended to sit and soak up some sun but then find that I must stroke and scratch her head because she insisted.
I'll never again bend down to pet her as she lays her tiny grey head on my shoe with her tail end sticking up in the air.
Never again will I say, "Hey, Mama" and hear her little soft trilling meow as she runs to me.
But I'll still say "Hey, Mama" when I open the gate when I arrive home late at night, though she won't be there to hear.
I'll still say "Hey, Mama" when I look out at her, forever empty spot on the top of my truck.
I'll still say it but never again with the tiny bit of happiness it brought me to say when she was still here to hear it.
Bye, Mama, and thanks.
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Comments7
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Caesar, the other cat that lives here hadn't seen Mama since I brought her back from the Vet's on Sunday because I was keeping her indoors so she'd be out of the heat. He came to the screen door of the porch right after Mama died and I let him in and he walked over to where she lay, staying back a few inches, and sniffed, then he did something that may have been a cough or it may have been a sob. It felt like grief. He then walked to the screen door, I opened it and he walked out, down the driveway and across the the street. A lone figure.