Saturday, May 14, 2011


I'm typing this in bed, where Jasper (Cricket's brother) is curled up next to me, sleeping in his super cute way. We took a nap together, and now we're just chilling. He's excellent company.

The last few days have really, really sucked. (See previous post about Cricket if you don't get why.) It's still pretty darn horrible, but things are finally starting to feel a tiny bit more normal. The number of times a day mom or I say "I miss Cricket" or "Poor Cricket" or something similar is down to around five thousand, instead of one hundred and ninety-four million. The random sobbing is down to a couple of times a day.

If you're not a cat person, that probably sounds crazy, but I don't care. I totally own my crazy cat lady status, and taking her death so hard means she was really, really important and loved. After way too much though about every possible aspect, I realized this is literally one of the worst things that has happened in my life, and trust me, coming from someone who has been through the kind of crap I have, that is saying a LOT. I could go on and on about WHY it is so hard and tragic and just plain awful, but really, I think you either get it or you don't.

(Jasper is now laying on his back dreaming with his tongue sticking out. His little feet are twitching as he chases some kind of epic chipmunk in dreamland.)

I spent an hour or so last night going through my Flickr account and tagging all of the pics of Crick & Jas so I'd have handy links. Should you be the kind of person who really enjoys looking at pics of other people's cats, both living and not, you can see all of the Cricket pictures here and Jasper here. For everyone else, I'm just going to share a couple of favorites:

This is all blurry because it is a cameraphone pic, because I was laughing too hard to get my actual camera. I had just sprayed down my comforter with the allergy reducing Febreeze, and then tossed it over my bedroom door to dry. Cricket, being a lover of being up high, took the opportunity to *climb* the blanket so she could hang out on top of the door. Note Jasper's little head down in the door frame looking at her like "Are you on CRACK?"

Another cameraphone moment, this is what happens if you give a Cricket a small paper bag.

When I was stuck home sick for like a month last year, Cricket kept me entertained with games of "kitty fort". She'd get under the covers with me, and we'd play with her toy mice. Kittens also make excellent space heaters when you're cold.

At some point when I was in Florida, I called my mom up super upset about something, probably money. I think it was one of those "they're going to reposess my car and my rent is overdue and I'm going to be homeless and also I haven't had money for food in three days" calls. For whatever reason, I was crying in total breakdown mode when Cricket suddenly ran into the bedroom, wearing a plastic grocery bag as a superhero cape. I immediately switched from crying to laughing so hysterically my mom thought I'd been shot or something. This became one of Crick's favorite things-- just last week she crawled inside a plastic bag and ran around the kitchen. We buried her with one, as well as one of her favorite mouse toys.

When Cricket was about 3 months old (I adopted her when she was 2 mos), she started stealing my fuzzy pink slippers and carrying them around the house, so I bought her her stuffed hippo, Mr Monkeypants. He was almost her exact size, but she still showed him who was boss.

This was my girl. She was the kind of cat that never did anything wrong. She loved everyone, everyone loved her. Even when I adopted her, the person at the shelter asked which cat I was there to pick up, and when I said Cricket, she said "Oh, she's AWESOME." And she was.

So now it's me and Jasper hanging out in bed, instead of all 3 of us. Jas has always been a "special snowflake", afraid of sunshine and rainbows and clouds. He always relied on his sister to do things first, to give him courage. Now he's stuck with the older cats, who he is afraid of despite the fact that he's lived with them a year and they haven't eaten him yet, and BonoCat, who chases him around, and me. He seems to think I'm pretty okay.

And outside of this house, life goes on as normal. Everyone goes to work and eats breakfast and watches tv and checks their e-mail. Everything is normal. We're trying to get back towards normal, slowly. And slowly, the moments where the pain is unbearable grow farther apart, while the times when things feel pretty normal grow more frequent. Life change shape a little, hearts try to stitch themselves back together, and Jasper and I lay here together, trying to fill in that missing space for each other.


C said...

You have excellent memories! And photos! We have a black and white kitty who also desperately loves plastic bags and kitty caves. You're not a crazy cat lady...or maybe you are, but there's absolutely nothing wrong with that.

sharoneb said...

I'm so sorry for your loss. But I'm glad to hear you're slowly beginning to heal. That last paragraph was beautiful.

Jessica Renee said...

I'm so sorry to hear about your baby. I can understand feeling guilty but it wasn't your fault. I hope you realize that and that it gets easier to deal with! Just continue to focus on all those great memories of her! <3