Blog 87 – 26.7.17. What’s the point?

4.30 am. Wake up. Cry. Brush teeth. Cry. Breakfast. Cry. I don’t want to wake up in a world without my beloved in it. The beloved that is only a cat. Shower. Cry. A lead ball where my heart should be. If I do something I usually do, something ordinary, like go to the shops or the gym, it’s a betrayal…a pretence that all is as it was…or worse, that he never really existed. After all, when he died, he just disappeared off the face of the earth..cats leave very little behind. Even his pee-stained blanket becomes appealing. This is the only time I do not want to feel good. How can it be the 26th July…how? What right has time to just march on? The grief must gestate….then give birth to a new and maybe more empathetic me; metamorphosed and improved by sadness. All his feeding bowls and litter trays are stacked ready for the cat charity. I don’t need my Pets at Home loyalty card. I can walk past the pet food aisle at Sainsburys. Cry. I don’t want to walk past the pet food aisle at Sainsbury’s. This is the grief that dare not speak it’s name…but I’m not the greatest obeyer of rules. This time is out of the ordinary and, just like I can choose to look for the good, I choose to cry.

What good was Troy’s life? What was the point of it? He sat around and just be’ed. An ever-present, calm, benign, comforting Buddha of a being. Sitting with me at the computer, sneakily sniffing my tuna sandwich, until I whip it away, or swivel my office chair and eat the lot before turning back, Bond-style smug. Or gently patting me on the shoulder when I spend too much time on the net and not enough time brushing and stroking….reminding me when my priorities are all wrong. Always calm in the midst of chaos. Quietly ‘protecting’ us; warding off strangers but welcoming neighbours…a guard-cat as sister S used to say. As lovely, kind, cat-owning friend, F says, a cat makes a home ‘lived-in and companiable’. I like that kind of home.

When anyone close dies, the guilt sets in and you wonder whether you did your best for them. Thank you, my beautiful boy, for allowing me to do my best, to wallow in the privilege of attending to someone’s needs, to listen and watch closely for the articulate signals from those unable to express themselves; and to be patient, kind and gentle – thank you for helping me to be the best……me.

That’s the point. Cry.

jx

DSC00235

Instructing young neighbour, Baz (left) in 2009.

Troy June 2017.IMG_1510

June 2017

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About aintwegotitmade

Who am I?.......well, I'm getting to that age where I have to think about that before I answer... My name is J, I'm married to Jay and we live in the great city of London. I started this blog as an update to family and friends when I completely ruptured my Achilles tendon a few years ago. I am so fortunate in every possible way...and in all honesty, I'm just using this blog to remind myself. Why is it called Aintwegotitmade?: this is a line from one of my favourite songs (Sing Baby Sing - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TtTgtkDLNys). Have I got it made? Well - I've got a roof over my head, running water right into my house, a fully-stocked supermarket round the corner, free and readily available healthcare; and I live with my lovely husband in a great city, in a beautiful country, where I feel safe and secure. I rest my case. Fact or opinion: I am not an expert on anything… but I can confirm that everything in this blog is either fact or opinion. I hope to post regularly...but I won't bother you too much. Thanks for stopping by... jx
This entry was posted in Cats, Gratitude, Healing, Looking for the Good, Uncategorized and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

6 Responses to Blog 87 – 26.7.17. What’s the point?

  1. I am so sorry for your loss of Troy. He looks like a magnificent House Panther. Giving a Cat love and a good home is a good thing.

  2. Our animals give us so much love without ever saying a word. They’re our best friends and it’s such a shame we only get to have them in our lives for so little time. x

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