There's been something between me and the Rebel this week. Sunday through Thursday it was as if an electric force field was edging its way between my fingers and the shutter button. Today it finally was removed from atop my bureau where it had sat for five days collecting dust. This week has just been....long. And today's post I'm going to do something really hard. I'm going to blog about my cat. If you don't want to hear a sappy love story, I'd stop here. If you want to know why I've been half-hearted in my posts, read on.
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| When we first got them :) |
We got her when I was eight I think. My parents took me and my brothers to the animal shelter to pick out kitties. I remember wanting a little white fluffball named "Snowflake" or something like that. Jack and Frank picked out Zipper, Sam and Tom set their eyes on Squirrel, and Mom felt pity for the small Maine Coon who had just had a litter of kittens mewing her little heart out and looking pitiful in her tiny cage. So that's who we came home with. I remember being disappointed we didn't end up with the white kitten, but quickly forgetting that disappointment on the car ride home when we decided on names for the little bundles of joy. She had to have an M name, since she was a Maine Coon and had the distinctive "M" on her forehead. "Precious" as she was then known, became our Molly. Molly was my cat. She would sleep on my bed almost every night, purring her sweet purr until she fell asleep. I remember laying in the darkness, not able to sleep, listening to her soothing motor, and nudging her gently when she would fall asleep just so she would start purring again, until I finally drifted off to dreamland.
Molly was a temperamental little thing. She'd change her favorite spot to sleep every other week, and it was always a joke in our house where she was that week. She would turn up her nose on food that wasn't "just" opened, she would hiss at the other cats and give me and my brothers "the look," as we fondly called it (when you were right about to be swatted in the face with one of her white paws), and she would even stand up to my brother's black lab when Jersey would come to visit our house!
Molly had the softest fur and the sweetest purr. She had a dozen or so nicknames, like, "Bones," "Molly Molly Moo Cow," and "Baby Girl". She saw me through my awkward teen years, the incessant teen girl tears, and was a constant ball of fluff in the middle of my twin bed. Molly loved the outdoors. She would rub against my face lovingly when I bent my head towards hers. She would wrangle her fur and be in her glory when Mom and I brushed it with these tiny hot pink Barbie doll brushes. She was an excellent mouser. She wrapped us all around her tiny paw, and we didn't care (much as we balked on the outside).
And Monday we said goodbye. She lived a good, long life, and she loved us. We didn't want to take her away, but we had to. You see, sometimes you would rather see something or someone not in pain than keep them around for your selfish heart. And though I've cried all week, I know deep down, that it's for the better. She was sick, and it would have been harder to watch her suffer longer, as her tiny body gradually shut down. She was in pain, I keep telling myself, as the tears run down my face typing this, it was better this way.
My parents told me they bawled taking her to the vet. Mom watched movies when she was home Monday night, something she hardly ever does. I remembered cuddling her on Sunday, when she was so weak she could hardly move. I remembered how Molly put her little head in my hand and slept like that for a few minutes. And we all cried together.
And then I remembered some good things. I know it will hurt for a long time, but the earth is moving. Time is going by. People are changing, and so am I. I remember the last time I saw Molly, and I remember the first time I saw her. And I remember the happy times and sad times in between.
And lastly, I remember the hole in my heart.
So, please bear with me. I thought that if I wrote about Molly it might help. Maybe it will, maybe it won't. Time will tell. And, in wrapping things up today, I'll share a few more pictures of her here. I actually snapped a bunch a few weeks ago. Thanks for letting me vent here.
Goodbye, Baby Kitty. I love you. You were a sweet Molly.
And Monday we said goodbye. She lived a good, long life, and she loved us. We didn't want to take her away, but we had to. You see, sometimes you would rather see something or someone not in pain than keep them around for your selfish heart. And though I've cried all week, I know deep down, that it's for the better. She was sick, and it would have been harder to watch her suffer longer, as her tiny body gradually shut down. She was in pain, I keep telling myself, as the tears run down my face typing this, it was better this way. 
My parents told me they bawled taking her to the vet. Mom watched movies when she was home Monday night, something she hardly ever does. I remembered cuddling her on Sunday, when she was so weak she could hardly move. I remembered how Molly put her little head in my hand and slept like that for a few minutes. And we all cried together.
