Christmas presents for kitties

Back in 1983 my parents adopted a little cat. 
Katie-Kat came from the Cats Protection League, as they were then called. She was about 18 months old, they reckoned, and had been rescued from a bunch of kids who'd been using her as a football. She was tiny. 

She remained tiny. And remained with us till April 2000, when, thinned by kidney failure, but still chatting to us, we had to say goodbye. She was maybe 18 1/2. 

You see, I had been thinking of Scooter's birth, in 1993, and saying that this would be the first Christmas in nearly 20 years when I hadn't bought a present for a cat. But I didn't included old Katie-Kat, our little, brave, black and white pusscat from the 80's. Including her, it means this is the first Christmas in 29 years, not 20.... 

Well, this won't do..... 

Mum and I have been adding a little cat food to our baskets when we go shopping at Sainsbury or Tesco, and dropping it into a collection bin they keep, for the local cat sanctuary. As I add mine, I whisper, this from Scooter..

And I commissioned this little gift stone for Scooter's place in the garden, for a Christmas present... this was and is my special name for him:

After I'd placed it where Scooter is buried with his sisters, I looked back and saw the doves above the spot...

Can you see how they make a heart shape?

 
 Hug your loved ones close this Christmas. I lost two precious friends this year. Don't take anyone, or anything for granted. Live each moment in the now. Things change quickly. Years rush by. Loved ones go..... hold them tightly.

And if any of them have fur, give them a hug from me xxx

 

 **** *** **** *** **** ***

Love, tea & Christmas cake,  
Helena

Another milestone

3 months, exactly, today. Monday, 17th September....... Monday, 17th December. 

Scooter, I miss you like the birds miss the leaves. 

I read that you can literally die from a broken heart. Look it up; something to do with weakening of the walls of the heart. It can be caused by grief, stress. It's why one spouse's death sometimes follows very quickly after the other. 

I cannot kill myself. The mess it would leave behind, I can't do it. So. I am willing myself to die. I am willing my heart to fail.

Yesterday I did a little gardening. Trimmed a few things, cut back some deadwood. A robin was singing very loudly. He's often around. He would sing when I sat with Scooter on his bench. He was singing nearby on the morning we buried him. 

I stopped what I was doing and sat down, and listened. In my mind, I told him that he sang beautifully. He came nearer and ate some suet I'd thrown about for him. After he'd gone I just sat in the quiet. In one hand I had the bag of cuttings. In the other were the secateurs. I wondered if they would be sharp enough to take the vein in my neck. I couldn't even remember the name of it. My head is on such a low gear lately. It was a while before I remembered; the jugular. Yes, that's it. Would it be enough? A quick stab. 

I thought of Luvbug. He had gone to the shops to get me some chocolate and some painkillers, and more cold remedies for himself. I pictured coming back to find my body on the ground, and all the blood. No. Can't do it, see. Can't scar him like that. He doesn't deserve that.

So I sit up late nights, hoping to hear Scooter. I hear him less and less now. It's like losing him again.  

Farewell, my friend. Go on your way if you must. Come see me when you can, promise me, come by sometime.

Meanwhile, nothing holds any light any more. 
It's as though the world is no longer 3D.
All is flat. All meaningless.
  
Life goes on, someone said to me. Ah yes, it does. It plods on. And I am doing my **best** to go along with things day to day. Be OK on the outside. Automatic pilot. But on the inside, I have gone.

Is it really two years?

Our last photo together, before we left for the vet......

I came across this series of photo's, taken a couple of weeks before. Scooter knew, I think, that his sister was leaving.....

 FLUFFY

gorgeous PRINCESS of cats

Wednesday March 23rd 1993 around 10am

to

Monday December 13th 2010 around 9.30am

You of the fluffy toes, the toe fur never trimmed, all cheesy,

you batted at your siblings as they walked under your chair and then looked like butter wouldn't melt in your mouth,

you stalked invisible assassins in paper bags,

and hugged behind my knees, under the sheets- sshhh! 

you played with the tinsel,

you lay belly up under the Christmas tree, cooing up at the twinkling lights.

Soft as the snowflakes you bit out of the air,

 if snow could ever be warm and lovely.

Rest in peace, in love, fun and sunshine, 

my beautiful sweetpea.

And so. 2 years for sweet Fluffy.
12 weeks, 3 days for Scooter.
Still crying every day.
Hard to believe there was ever a time I wasn't grieving.