He is gone.
And now I’m bracing myself for all the “firsts.”
The first morning I sip my coffee and read my Bible with no purring kitty on my lap.
The first evening I hear thunder and look out the sliding glass doors and he isn’t there, sitting on the mat. No little grey face looking back at me saying “let me in NOW.”
The first time I sweep the floor and feel anything but indifference to the little tufts of grey fur floating around my broom. The next time our cleaners come the house will surely be rid of all the stray hair under the couches and beds. The last physical evidence of him, gone forever.
The first time Remmy happily bounds outside into the early morning light, sniffing for Eustace’s leftover cat food and finding none. I wonder what will go through his head. I wonder if he’ll be more saddened by the missing canned cat food than his missing friend.
The first time we take a family walk with no Eustace trailing behind us meowing in conversation.
The first time I pull into the driveway and Eustace isn’t there to greet us in his usual way. At the top of the driveway directly in the path of my truck, meowing his welcome and expecting me to park right where he is sitting.
I will miss his gentle head-butts; his wet nose on my hand to get me to pet him.
His bossy tone when he asks for food.
His grey warm body stretched out in the sun.
His fighting spirit.
His sweet affection for the kids no matter what.
His audible snoring.
His purr that rumbled his whole body.
His intense eyes that held eye-contact in a way far too meaningful for a cat.
The white around his mouth and nose. And those beautiful white whiskers.
The way he sat in our yard like a guard dog, being far more protective than Remmy.
His huge paws.
His love for our family.
And so much more from another life.
My twenty year-old self and my sweet grey kitty, moving apartments, meeting new friends, changing jobs, meeting Brenden.
Eustace was there through it all. My constant companion in a changing life and heart.
I am cherishing these firsts and feeling the pain of them. Because I know in way too little time I won’t even notice them anymore.
A “first” will come and go and my mind will be elsewhere, no longer tuned into the reality of my sweet friend being gone.
I love you so much Eustace. I’m so grateful for every moment we had.
(Circa 2002)
