If you've noticed, many of the recent posts on this site have been from other people. For just a little while longer, I'm going to let them do my work for me. It's just been a bit hard to move beyond this wordless sorrow. Trust me, I'm not walking around the house weeping...that all happened a year ago. When I'm out and about, I'm, well, out and about; laughing, talking, working--no one who saw me would guess I was a cat lady in mourning.
At home, however, the boyfriend and I drift quietly around a house where the floors are too clean; where the cat hair we used to bemoan on our clothing and furniture are now fine white links to the past, sucked up by an indifferent vacuum. When we come home at night, after being 'out', there's no Bitey sitting on the couch, waiting.
Another friend who recently lost her beloved cat said that every once in a while out of the corner of her eye she sees Bianca, turns and sees no one there.
I have had the same thing happen to me, kind of like kitty LSD trails. Most often it turns out to be a white canvas tote bag on the couch, or a white shirt crumpled up on the ground. I don't cry when this happens, I just feel this huge emptiness. And sigh.
I am a CHAMP at sighing right now.
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