When I visit my war patio, I tend to think a lot about my past life…
And this is one of my memories that might help you understand your kitty a little better. It’s not short but it’s an easy read and my spark is that some voyages must be made so that one has no regrets for not having takeen them.
A Separation Story
Papa’s sister was married to a poet.
Yes, a real live one who makes words sound like music and I know because mama, who loves poetry, has read some of his poems to me as kitty bedtime stories when I’m getting all relaxed and snoozy.
Mama and papa once drove five hours to see papa’s sister and the poet in the Lot, which is where I thought they parked those things that go really fast and make honking noise and to be avoided at all costs, but instead, it’s a green fairyland place where the poet lived many years ago when he had just started to write.
Mama says he didn’t like kitties.
Well, that’s because he loved chow doggies and had a very important chow doggy friend and he lost his friend and the loss was with him always. Humans do not do well with the loss of a pet; sometimes it’s far worse than losing a human—for some humans.
I know mama and papa feel just like that now…
But let’s not go there.
They left me with my kittysitter and when they came back, just 30 hours later, I was weird. I don’t know what I felt when I was left with a really nice person who played with me and fed me right on time and then disappeared suddenly on the day that mama and papa showed up again and said, “Hi, Loulou, little kitty, how’d you do?” And then they goo, goo, ga, gaed all over me and I was supposed to be NORMAL after such a change but instead I glared and got under the bed. For a little while.
We kitties like continuity in our lives (like small anthros) and having your big anthros pick up and leave every now and then is very, very disconcerting (I love that word, too—sort of sounds like ‘no more music’, which is how it feels to go through an experience like this).
But I could see that it was really good for papa (and mama) to see his sister who lived far away in Hawaii on Maui (near a town called Haiku—isn’t that a great name for a poet’s land)–and only came to France once a year, and mama and papa loved them both so much and esteemed them both and you just never know how much it means to see your family when it has been a long, long time between hugs and when they may not be there one day, and in fact, they were gone not long after…
I knew what that must have felt like, and so I forgave this separation. And I got back to sleeping sprawled on both of them, two hands touching my black fur.
And life was good again.
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