Missing Gypsy - Three Months Later

It has been three months since I said goodbye to my sweet orange boy. Where am I?

Sometimes I don't know. I never knew I could feel such despair for the loss of an animal. I wonder if I was happier in the rest of my world if I would feel quite so desolate. I guess that's a moot point.

Gypsy always reminds me of himself in the oddest ways. Sometimes it's via the small knitted mouse I carry with me everywhere I go or the fleecy blanket that I wrapped around him as we said goodbye. I keep it close where I can reach it at night when it's so dark and my head flies in too many different directions. Just as I used to pet him, it settles me. 

He comes into my head as I toss clothes -- especially black clothes -- on the bed and don't have to worry about them looking hairy. (Wrinkled, maybe. Hairy, no.)

I go to the garage to bring in groceries and can leave the door to both the house and outside open, not worrying that he would slip outside when I didn't see. And I don't have to worry about him slipping out the cottage door when we're at the lake.

It's easier to travel to the lake on the weekend, not worrying about leaving him in the car on a hot day or having to take him inside a restaurant.
Or worrying about him hurling in the car. 
I don't clean litter boxes or wash cat food dishes.
I don't have to measure pee or poop or monitor how much water he drank. 

I don't spend a chunk of time every day giving him fluids.

But I also don't have the pleasure of watching him chase treats or try to break into the treat box.

I don't get to hear his purr or feel him snug in so I can rub his soft little tummy or gently grab his tail as he walked by and feel the soft fur go through my finger. 

I'm not awakened by his gentle pestering and followed patiently around the house till he's fed. He was always a chatty little boy.

 

I miss my office assistant. Kitty on the keyboard.

 

I miss rubbing his sweet little paws.

 

I miss looking into his eyes -- those pools of green and brown flecks. And his spotty little nose.

And I miss having him sit up for each dinner!

Or treat.

I miss his skill at catching mice at the cottage. 

 

About the only thing I don't miss is his bringing me his catch when I'm in bed. 

 

I know Rick misses him, too, which helps. He always treated Gypsy like a dog and Gypsy loved it.
They were play pals and that always made me smile!

During his last months, he got "table" privileges. (He may have thought he had them before but was smart enough not to do it when I was around.) My caretaker Jan took this picture of him as he helped her make beaded jewelry. It was his last photo.

I've had signs that Gypsy has given me permission to get a new cat. One the day of Greg's art gig in Detroit, as I was sharing with my friend Kate the note Dr. Anne had written me and the donation she had given in Gypsy's name, a mom-cat and three kittens walked across Rick's front porch. It was a sign.

I've been so enchanted by the Seven Kittens videos that I keep thinking maybe it's time for one. This blog post by new blogger Susan Hoyle Bailey is the best summary I've seen and if you love cats and kittens (Sorry, Arti!) don't miss this link!

And I've even "auditioned" some kittens and their mom-cat found by a colleague. I'll check them out again and see if we bond. And maybe one day, we'll bond as well as Gyp and I did.

But still, even with those signs, I cry every day. I know it gets better. But I sure wish I knew when I'll smile again. I mean, really, truly smile and keep it there and mean it.