Grief

 

April 18, 2023

My grief was so voluptuous and multi-faceted yesterday, so Baroque, that it could almost be examined as an artifact. Today I’m alone for the first time since October 3, 1990. On that day I acquired Jocasta from the county shelter. On October 4th, M gave me Theseus. The house has not been empty since; it feels vast and cold and quiet. That’s longer than the raising of children. I listen for the thump of paws descending from furniture onto floors. I listen for Maud’s morning tirade from under the dining room table. When I woke this morning I was careful not to kick her as I struggled out of the covers. Passing the shower, I reached in to turn it on for a moment, so she could fulfill her desire to lap water from the floor. Part of me wants to rush out and get another cat. Most of me doubts that I have the 10 to 20 years left necessary to give an animal a forever home. 

But, curiously, late last night, a feeling of blessedness, even of mirth, came over me. I think that it was the spirit that had been Maud turning in its journey to thank and bless me. I accept the thanks, for taking care of my little cat was one of the few tasks set for me that I did not botch. 

Without intending to, I dragged the Anatolian carpets out of storage and restored most of them to the floor. They are by far my post expensive possessions; I figure they’re worth about $60,000, an investment, I thought then and think now. Maud took to peeing on them. So much did I lover her that I didn’t even care. I had them cleaned, rolled them up and put them out of the way.

Learned that the bamboo tips I’ve been hacking out are called culms.