Memories of Little Miss B - the ghosts in the mansion

This week was the first time ever that I'd been here, in the house or our condominium, without Tsarina when my husband wasn't here. Although this may not seem like a big deal, it was.

Looking less than impressed

One of Tsarina's bad habits was to yowl. When my husband was gone (he lived in a different city (for work) for almost six years) her behaviour was frequently terrible. She'd meow at all hours of the day and night, frequently, continuously and very, very loud. It was times like that where I could have cheerfully chucked her outside (she was strictly a house cat) and let her fend for herself. In her 13.5 years, she always made plays to escape: when I'd open the door and tell her to get the he-double hockey sticks out, she'd hide. 

Mysteriously, when I'd go out of town and my husband was home with her, she never said a word. Ever. 

In the end,  I chalked it up to her being a 'teenager'; at the time, she would have been the cat equivalent to being a teenager and as we all know, it's a child's mission to continuously drive their parents insane. 

The house seemed very quiet and empty with out my other half and our little princess. Every single time I went to check the mail, I looked up at her cat stand, expecting to see her. Almost every night as I prepared to turn in, I started to try and feed her. It was weird and unnerving and it made me sad. She should be here, she should, and it's not fair that she's not.

I love you, Miss B. Be good.