- Sep 7, 2018
- Reaction score
Every time I close my eyes, I see her and hear her. Every time I open them, she’s nowhere to be found. I know it’s futile to wander the apartment singing, “where’s my cat at?” So many songs, games, and jokes just lost their audience. So much context in this apartment has lost so much meaning. I vacuumed up kitty litter for the first time in months. Because only yesterday did the litter on the floor ever bother me. I turned off all my nighttime and morning smart light routines that marked our meal times. They just don’t mean anything anymore. The 9am cat rock (Music For Cats) alarm on the sound bar remains though. I’ve grown rather fond of that cat rock. I emptied the litter boxes and litter genie. Today I’ll clean up her medicine corner on the countertop. Her new cat tree arrived yesterday. I will be running a full room Deep Clean with the Bissell. Toys and supplies will get put away. I’ll likely even donate the cat stairs we never used. There’s no sense in trying to scrub or clean away all the cat. I wouldn’t want to. But I feel I need to fill in holes left behind. I so very much want to fill them with another cat. Or maybe siblings next time. But I also feel that I should restore myself first. I’ve been caring for her round the clock for so long that I don’t even know what to do with myself anymore. What provides meaning to waking and reward to signing off of work every night. And how to fill nights if it’s not feeding or watching the game with her. I think I need to figure out what it is like to be me again. But I hope someday soon to reopen my home and heart to a cat or cats again. This stupid pandemic is too lonely without them.