I'm back

The wedding was beautiful, the trip crazily full of lists, things to do, places to go, and little sleep. My sister is safely on her honeymoon and Dan and I are catching up on sleep. Pictures of all to come soon.

In the meantime, I'm laying quiet for a bit. The night before we left for California was a blur with all the packing, running around, and cleaning. Around midnight I noticed my cat Tabby seemed upset somehow. I reached down and stroked her fur, reassuring her that it was just a trip, that we'd be back soon, that everything was just fine. She purred and leaned her body into my hand as I calmed her, and I went off to bed. Dan and I both hit the ground running at 5:00 the next morning since we needed to leave by 5:30. I went to get my suitcase by the top of the stairs, looked down, and saw Tabby on the floor. She was gone. From what I can tell, she must have waited until we went to bed to die. I knew this was coming - she'd been losing weight and hurting from time to time the last few months and we guessed her tumor had come back - but it still hit me really hard.

I remember when Tabby was a tiny kitten, so small she fit in both hands. She was smart, beautiful, and so graceful. She loved to play and was full of life. She also had an attitude many times her size and preferred life on her terms. She didn't like most people, though she tolerated Dan and the boys well enough. She was cranky and vocal and a pain, but I loved her all the more for her less than lap cat ways. She saw me through some really hard times, always curling right up against me and purring like a motor whenever I was nearby. She was a fighter, always top cat even when the other cats in question were twice her size. And she managed to fight that cancer for ten months. Feisty all the way to the end.

Tabby had two loves in life: getting outside (which we didn't allow) and food. I got her ashes back today, and we're going to sprinkle them over in the corner garden. I think that's where she'd want to be - out in the sunlight, surrounded by places to hide and chase bugs and birds, able to see nap in the cool grass and nibble flowers from time to time.

The house feels too empty right now. I keep waiting to see her come down the stairs at night, waiting until we come up to bed. I cry when I see her cat bed, knowing she won't ever get to sleep there again. And our bed is all wrong without her there. I was her person for seventeen and a half years, and I miss her sorely.