Wednesday, April 24, 2013
Memories of Little Miss B - The Kitchen
Last Thursday, I was making dinner, like I usually do but you weren't here to 'help'. Meaning, you weren't driving me crazy with your crazy LOUD meow (I wish I had a video of you meowing - how is it in 13.5 years, I never got a video of your chatter?), the meow, I learned, was a call for me to put down the cooking implements and come play with you.
The kitchen was very hot and I was breaking out into a sweat but I resisted going to open the kitchen window. I knew as soon as I touched the blind, I'd hear the familiar "THUMP" that indicated you'd jumped off the cat stand and were making your way to the soon to be opened window. Before I'd get the window open, you'd be pushing on my arm, trying to get it out of the way so you could take your rightful perch, mashed up against the screen, catching a breeze, spying the birds that dared fly by or howling at the neighbours like we'd abandoned you.
I took a deep breath, pulled up the blind and slid the window open. Then my tears started again. Oh, baby girl, why is this so hard? I had a good cry and went and visited your cat stand. I took the fur laden blanket from the second level and snuggled it close to my face, just wanting to have one more night with you on my pillow, making me wheeze.
But I made it through. Just like I did yesterday when I opened a can of tuna for my lunch. For the first time in all the years you've been my girl, I poured the water from the tuna down the drain. Max was hiding under the table, I know he used to share the tune juice with you, I don't think he'd have wanted it though, it was always more 'your thing' than his.
It is still very, very strange to do things like open the door and not have to rush to close it (so you don't make an escape attempt). The number of times I started to tell TroubleMaker "CLOSE THE DOOR!" only to realize he can stand with the door open all day, save for during mosquito season, because you aren't going to be playing to get out of it. After nine years in this house, your dad and I realized the other night we can actually put in the screen in the front storm door. We both agreed that having you would be better but it's the little things that we'd just adapted too that are going to be the strangest to get used to doing.
I love you, Little Miss B. Be good.
This is my way of dealing with the very emotional loss of our darling Bengal, Tsarina Jasmine (HappyKatz cattery). She passed away April 15, 2013 after a brief, but difficult and debilitating battle with intestinal cancer. She was my surrogate child for eight years (before and after the arrival of our son), for me, losing her, is like losing a child. I appreciate not everyone will understand my attachment and dedication to her. If you don't get it, please move on. I'm in no mood to deal with morons passing judgement on my life.