Time and time again have I learned that time does not always heal wounds, things don’t always get better and that some things cannot be replaced. Oliver, still missed a full two years and one day after he left for greener mousing grounds (and turned this little guys life upside down), is still a paradox to me. So many times of realizing that I fell in love with an animal that wasn’t bound to live forever, so many times of realizing that today, tomorrow or next year would be just as bad a time for him to leave. So many times, sitting in silence, wondering how he might have felt seeing what he would have seen shortly after he passed on, how everything just flew apart as if hit with a few pounds of dynamite.
He isn’t really gone, because each and every day I think about him, miss him and cherish the time I got to spend with this little cuddle monster. His meow is still in my ears, just as it was before, when I still had my daily dose of feeling loved. He is just no longer physically present, causing little reasons to smile, laugh, bark at him or even be annoyed.
Physically, his grave is not 100 feet away from where I sit. I get to walk by it, every day, being reminded of digging into the cold earth, on this rainy September Sunday 2 years ago. I remember the two toys and his brush which were sent along for his journey, any my heart aches to know if he ever gets to play these days, and who might make the time to brush him and make him feel loved.
Fundamentally, I believe he went to a better place, a place free of judgment and prejudice just like children believe in Santa Claus. Children believe in that character until they are taught not to believe in him anymore, when logic and reason set in and force perceptions and opinions to change. Deep down, I’d love to believe in Santa, even though reality is cold and sobering. Deep down I am glad that nobody ever managed to teach me that there is no special place we get to see when we pass away. I certainly wish him that he went to some place that allows him to enjoy warmth, nature and love, and I certainly hope that he can see me, down (or over) here, in the trenches.
You can laugh about my sentiments, or cry with me, but let me assure you that not many things are able to take my energy and power from me, as being reminded how odd it felt to bury this little character. Having to say goodbye, knowing that I wouldn’t see him again anytime soon was incredibly hard for me. All what’s left are memories thoughts and pictures. My unused pilot logbook still has a few of his whisker hairs he had lost over the years taped to the last page and I still smile when I think about him. I cannot truly talk about this cat unless I write what I think protected by the anonymity of my laptop. This way people cannot see how a grown guy with gray hair could feel about the loss of a little red haired cat, who just left, on that fucking sour Sunday, September the 27th. of 2009.
May he have found peace and calm and may he continue to watch over his chosen human, whom has (I swear!) tried every day, since he’s been gone, to be or become a little more of the person he thought I am…