Ghost Cat
Today marks one week since Lancelot's death. It seems so much longer.
Right after Lancelot passed away, I left for a business trip. I was relieved to be away from home. My friend Michael suggested I bring a keepsake on the road. I tucked a small photo of Lancelot and Santa into a frame. (Yes, he is wearing a Philadelphia Eagles jersey.)
The three nights I was away, I was pretty proud of myself. This isn't so bad, I thought. I'm not crying that much. I don't miss his big, black, furry body against my feet at night, and I don't miss the 6 a.m. breakfast "cat call."
Then I came back. I started dreading it the moment I got on the plane in San Antonio. When I walked in the door, no one would be there to greet me. By the time I got in the taxi in Philadelphia, I was crying. I called Michael so he could listen to me babble. He said, "Lancelot's spirit will always be with you. He's probably looking down at you right now. But it's daytime, so he's sleeping. He'll get up tonight while you're asleep."
I turned off the phone and looked at the driver's mirror. He was, of course, staring blankly at me. He looked to be about 75 years old, and he asked me if the radio bothered me. I blathered no. I don't think he knew what to do. So he said, "In my 50 years of driving taxis, you're the nicest lady I ever drove. Just the nicest." Then he regaled me with stories about his life and his family and their pets.
But when I got home I felt empty. The apartment never looked so lonely. All my careful decorating did little to hide the empty spaces, the spot where his food dish used to be, the indentation in the down comforter where he'd lain all day. I picked up his collar and rang the bell. I was inconsolable.
I was sitting at home watching TV a few nights later when I heard a clang. I looked up and saw a fork on the floor. Somehow it had gotten dislodged from the dish drainer. Later I heard other unfamiliar sounds—quiet shuffling and squeaking, little movements from corne
r to corner. I checked, but there was nothing there. I started to wonder whether Lancelot's spirit was there, trying to get my attention. It's OK with me, as long as he's happy where he is. His spirit is welcome to stay in the apartment; after all, it is his home.In the meantime, I'm learning not to get up during the TV commercials so I can give him a kiss and a scratch on the chin. I'm getting into the habit of curling myself around a pillow at night instead of spooning with a big mound of fur. And I'm trying to train myself not to look at my feet as I enter and exit the apartment, blocking a ghost cat from sneaking through my legs and out into the world.
posted by Janine @ 7:44 PM
5 Comments:
J - So sorry about Lancie. Your post is making me cry, thinking about how badly you must be feeling. You know I lost my Hammie last year and I know how you feel. We all love you and are thinking of you and sending good thoughts. Lancie was a great cat and you gave him the best life he could have possibly had. Take comfort that he's in kitty heaven probably fighting Hammie for the most comfortable place to take a nap. Soon you will find a palce in your heart to give another great kitty a great life and although he/she won't ever be Lancie, you'll feel the love of a good kitty again. I love you! - Erin
I love you too, Erin. You have all been wonderful to me during this impossible time, and I can't tell you how much I appreciate it. Doing the blog is helping a lot. It makes me focus and think about the times when Lancelot was healthy (as you will undoubtedly see in future posts, those times were few and far between!)
Hammie was a wonderful fat cat who lived with Erin for many years. I have some terrific photos of Hammie sitting on top of Erin's refrigerator surveying her home. He was such a good, sweet kitty, and we all miss him very much.
I'd love to hear all your stories about your long lost pets: dogs, cats, rabbits, birds, etc. Please feel free to share them here.
i saw the third (most recently made) star wars movie a couple of weeks ago. Yoda had a line that i've been chanting to myself ever since whenever i look at my sleeping kitties: "You must train yourself to let go of that which you fear most to lose." Most of the time, i just feel like, "yeah? well fuck you, you hairy-eared little troll! i'm NEVER going to lose my cats! I'll have their dead stiff corpses stuffed and keep them around me at all times!" But i also secretly do sort of try to train myself. it's really hard though. This blog helps.
This is Mikey's (aka Michael's) friend Sue writing. He has kept me
updated on what has happened with Lancelot and just sent me the blog
page you started. I didn't want to go through signing up on the page-
you can copy and paste this in if you want it up there - I don't mind.
It was just easier for me to write to you directly.
Anyway, I just read your blog about coming home to your empty
apartment. And now, I'm sitting here crying - for you, knowing exactly
what you are going through - and for myself and how sharp the loss of my
Monte' is even two and a half years later.
I have had many cats and dogs (and ferrets and hamsters and rats and
fish, etc.) all my life. But Monte' was my first very own cat. I had her
for 11 years. For all 11 years, I spent every night sleeping with her
right next to my pillow with my face burried in her soft tummy fur and
her paw over my cheek. I was in a complete and total depression for
months after she died, and I still have flashes of missing her so much
my chest aches and I still cry as I am doing right now. I still see her
ghost out of the corner of my eye once in a while.
I still have the other two I had at the time - Pooh and Murphy. But, I
was just so emplty without her I didn't know what to do with myself.
About two months after Monte' died, I got a sweet baby kitten - from the
vet's office nearby where I get all my kitties (they keep unwanted
litters for adoption - totally free and they come with all first shots
and tests all done to be sure they don't have lukemia or kitty HIV) -
named Barney. He is the new love of my life. I love him as much as I
loved Monte' and my other two, just in a different way. He is not a
replacement for Monte'; no one could ever replace her. Every kitty has
its own special, unique personality. There are so many sweet, loving
kitties without homes. When Monte' died, I had all this kitty love that
used to go to her - and all of a sudden it had no where to go. I needed a new kitty to give it to. I was worried for a little while that if I got a new kitty it would be a betrayal to her. But, I know she was so happy with me/us. I knew that what important was that I would be able to give a loving home to another kitty who needed it like Monte had. Barney has filled the empty spot left by my Monster's death. But, I still miss her and all the little things that made her unique - for example, her extra toes and her tendency to sit there looking at you with the tip of her tongue hanging out and her tendency to "groom me" (lick my face).
Losing our beloved pets is the price of having their love and
companionship - the purest kind there is. It hurts worse thananything - but, ultimately it is worth it for all the wonderful timeyou have with them. And, I think their lives are sadly short, so that those of us who love them so much are able to give homes to more than just one or two kitties in our lifetime. If it weren't for Brendan's "the cats can't out number the people 2 to 1" rule, I'd probably be the creepy cat lady of Ambler by now.
Anyway, I just want you to know that I understand how horrible and empty
and lonely you are feeling. What helped me when I lost Monte' was to
know what you must know about Lancelot - that your kitty was so lucky to have such a loving Mom who cared so much that she is now hurting so badly. There are so many kitties who aren't loved that way - and worse. Lancelot was a very lucky cat.
Hopefully when you've had some time to heal, you will open your heart to
a new kitty (or two) who need a home. It may seem odd, but Barney helped me deal with my grief over Monte'. Having him to give my love to helped
to comfort me.
Take care and find comfort in knowing how happy Lancelot's life was with you, and in knowing that you are not alone in how you feel.
Best wishes,
Sue (and Brendan) Krause
Hi, Everyone— Thanks so much for your thoughtful missives about your experiences with your cats. I particularly like Sue's, because I remember when she lost her Monte. I also understand feeling guilt about getting another cat. Somehow I feel the apartment is Lancelot's, and if I get another kitty I will be violating his trust. But I know someday I will get another cat, or a dog, because there are so many animals out there who need homes.
Sue's note reminded me of the death of our family dog, Kippy. Kippy was a Westhighland white terrier with a number of interesting habits. He had been abused by his former owners, elderly people who may not have understood the industriousness and curiousness of terriers. Kippy had a habit of licking his nose. He liked capturing birds and bringing them into the house as gifts. I'd venture to say he wasn't particularly bright. But he loved me, and I was devoted to him.
Kippy died my first year of college. I remember calling my parents from the pay phone in the library. My mom was crying; she could barely speak. Kippy had died at the vet while my parents were on vacation. When she called to set a time to pick him up, the receptionist said, "Didn't anyone call you? Your dog is dead." My mom felt terrible. She said, "I'll never get another dog. Never!"
Just two weeks later, Nikki the American Eskimo came into my parents' lives. "I couldn't stand not hearing his little tag ringing when I was walking around the house," Mom told me.
At 18, I was still pretty immature. I thought my parents were traitors, and I wanted nothing at all to do with the dog, who seemed to me to be a little white infiltrator. I kept up my stubborn stance until I met Nikki, a white furball with endless energy who had many special talents, including barking on command, peeing at the appearance of my elderly aunt and chasing himself in circles until he practically passed out.
Nikki is now 16 years old. He is spending his golden years in Florida with my parents; I think he's more "retired" than either my Mom or Dad! But I know neither my Mom nor I would trade a moment of the time we've spent with Nikki, the Infiltrator, for anything. Even if he does seem to love my Dad more than either of us. :)
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