About a month ago I lost one of my best friends. It hasn't been an easy road for me, and I don't think it will get better in the near future, but little by little the pain lessens.
If you haven't lost anyone in your life it's hard to imagine, and every time it doesn't really work the same way. Grief does come in those stages they all talk about, sometimes it happens fast, sometimes it happens over years. And each stage can be a lifetime summed up in little moments or more painful ones.
I believe that Olivia was willed I to existence by me wanting something so incredibly special that it seems sort of impossible, and in the forefront of my mind I'm really hoping I can do it again.
Yeah, maybe I'm marking myself as gullible or superstitious, but when my dad died I wanted a cat so bad that I asked my mom for one almost daily. And we did get a cat, but he immediately took a liking to my brother more and so I waited for a time when I could find MY cat.
A friend had kittens a few years later and I sat patiently waiting for one to come to me, to pick ME, and when he did he was my cat, he got into things, caused trouble, but spent almost every free moment he could with me.
And then I found my future husband and we moved away and I was so sad he couldn't come with me to the apartment. I pushed so hard to get a house before we could bring him home, but he went down hill so quickly it broke my heart. I blames myself for leaving him behind and vowed he'd come back to me one day.
When we found a house it took very little time for us to settle in and start looking for a cat of our own. The first one I thought would be ours fell through immediately and just as a whim at the very last hour before the humane society closed we went to go look at cats.
Right there in a display up front, romping with other kittens was the little grey kitten named Brioche (terrible name) but I flung that cage open and she romped over to me and for almost thirteen years we were inseparable.
Olivia (Livvy) was a menace, throwing herself at rugs, meowing at all times of the night, wanting equal time to play and cuddle, demanding I spend all my time with her (to the detriment of husband cuddles) and wanted to be chased, play tag, go outside, climb on every surface and just took over the house.
She wasn't my old boy, six months later we'd find out black girl and she even looks like him as she sleeps....
I feel Olivia was the part I needed the most, the one who got me through the pandemic, climbing all over me during conference calls, keeping me company in an otherwise lonely house, getting me through any rough moments I had by rubbing herself into my face and covering my mouth in hair that I couldn't get off until it got into my eyes and I had to forget about whatever it was I was sad about.
Through all of that I thought I could keep her at least 13 years, but it was all cut short early by cancer and I made the terrible decision to make the pain go away.
And every moment I look for her in a spot she's gone. Every place makes me cry. Every memory brings me to tears but it also gets better with each time I sob over a memory.
But I'm also stubborn. I want me cat back again. I want THIS cat, I want the one that picks ME each time. I know I have to be patient. If you believe in reincarnation or whatever it is, nine lives...? I want to be there for the next one and she's not been gone for five weeks... Hardly enough time for a kitten to grow up yet.
Maybe I sound like a loony toon, but I've got to TRY... I think that's what's keeping me going now instead of falling into the misery I went through the last few times I lost someone.
