Jul. 17, 2003 ~ Before MIsha,
there was Catrina, a soft, tiny, shy gray kitty. She came to live with us 21 years ago. It was her job to sleep by my feet at night, and she particularly loved my afghan. It started out as mine, anyway. My mother crocheted it especially for me, letting me choose the colors (purple, blue and white) and the yarn, and it was wonderfully soft and comforting. That's probably why Catrina was so fond of it. The afghan was laid across the foot of the bed in winter, and the kitty grew accustomed to sleeping there, so that was "her" spot, always.
One year at Christmastime, as we drove to my mom's house for a holiday dinner, we thought we'd stop "just to look" at the local Adopt-A-Pet. There was one strikingly handsome long-haired black and white cat, and for whatever reason, Husband suggested I pick him up and hold him.
"I'd better not."
"Oh, go ahead."
That was all it took. He clung to me and snuggled against me and of course he won my heart. Arrangements were made, papers filled out, and they kept him for us until after we returned from my mom's. Misha came into our lives and into our hearts that day, and Catrina had to adjust to the loss of her only-cat status. Though she was small and Misha was not, she was still top cat, and she retained her spot at the foot of the bed.
She was with us for thirteen years, and after she passed on, I put her afghan away. But Misha immediately started sleeping by my feet at night. When winter came and Catrina's afghan was put back into use, Misha let us know that he loved the afghan, too. We have several afghans, but that particular one is favored by the cats. So it became his afghan. Instead of just being used in the winter when it's cold, there are now several folded afghans atop the bookcases in our bedroom. Pepper and Misha slept on them year-round. Misha's, of course, was purple, blue and white.
This morning, no purring kitty woke me with a lick to the arm. No warm presence snuggled against me after Husband left for work. And for the first time in over 20 years, there was no kitty... asleep at the foot of the bed.
Last night, the impact of our loss hit me, as I looked at Husband in dismay.
"I don't have a cat."
"Of course you do. We have more cats than we can count. And there's Pepper."
Pepper is College Boy's cat, and he's a wonderful kitty, but he is not "my" cat. He sleeps in our bedroom on the windowsill, or on the afghans on the bookcase, or even on the bed (during the day), but he does not sleep by my feet. He likes to be petted but not held. He needs his space. We love him, we do, but he's not mine. Husband does not want any more cats in the house, as he has allergy problems, and feels the cats make matters worse. Can't blame him for that. Someday, when College Boy leaves home, I expect he will take Pepper with him. And there will be no more housecats. At least, that's the plan.
I washed linens yesterday, and washed Misha's afghan. It's folded, on top of the dryer, because I wasn't sure what to do with it.
I think I'll put it in the closet.
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