zoomaru

I've had kitties my entire adult life. The minute you get more than one, you become a Cat Lady. It is irrefutable; two puts you into a whole other league. It is much less weird to be a married, childed Cat Lady because people can't accuse you of misdirected maternal instincts. But I started my cat career as a single, apartmented gal. My kitty friend made a near perfect surrogate roommate/boyfriend. Someone to chat to, buy presents for and to curl up with at night. The warm weight of a cat made for comfortable companionship when living by myself.

I got the second cat to be the first one, Sancho's, pal. They've spent the last 5 years hissing and pouncing on eachother and generally raising holy hell. While one scratched the hell out of the furniture the other decided to pee on it. Great, we thought. How do we get uncatted.

And then Sancho, our old crochety diabetic cat had to be put to sleep on Monday. The other cat misses her buddy accutely and I miss him warmly pressing against my thigh each evening while I watch TV. I still have the orange one perched on my shoulder purring loudly in my ear, but my thigh is a little chilly. And despite my many protestations against the cats, it took me so by surprise when he took his sudden turn. I wish I hadn't swept him out of my way with my foot so many times. Wish I hadn't spoken crossly. Wish I had scritched between his ears a few more times.

So I still look for him when i come home, still almost get his medication ready each evening. Still feel guilty.