requiescat in pace

It’s been an interesting week.  Sunday, I found out that Norm, a friend of mine, died the previous Thursday.  This wasn’t a surprise — he was a WWII veteran whose health had been quite bad for several months — although his late diagnosis with bone cancer was.  It explains why he was in so much pain when I visited him last in the hospital.  I’m glad he’s done with that pain.  I didn’t get to go to his service — it was yesterday, while I was at the last Secret Harbor Island Picnic. 

Said picnic was good, but a bit disappointing.  I was expecting to see more of the former staff and former residents than I did (one former staff that I knew, and no former residents).  I did some networking with some of the state social workers there, and might be able to use them to try again to be hired to be one of them when I’m done working where I am.  But it was sad to be on the Island and know that I won’t be back. 

But the biggest loss of the week was my cat, Baby.  She didn’t die this past week — she likely died nearly a month ago — but this week was when her remains were found.  She wandered off about a month ago and found a secluded spot in my basement that she could lay down in and go to sleep, and then she didn’t wake up.  And it was a secluded enough spot that it took this long to run into it (my basement is like that).  Until then, I wasn’t certain where she had gone (it could have been outside) and whether she’d died or just found a new home.  Now I know what it was. 

Those who know will know that Baby and I did not have a warm nor fuzzy relationship.  She was annoying and frequently grouchy.  She loved attention, was afraid of people, and drooled when she purred.  However, she lived in the same house with me for more of my life than anyone who was born after me.  She was at least two years old when we adopted her, and that was about fifteen years ago, so she was at least 17, which is darn good in cat years.  As with Norm, I’m glad that she went peacefully, and that she’s done with pain.  And I will miss her, strangely enough. 

I’m not afraid of death.  I don’t see it as a bad thing.  It’s a part of life.  I like to think that Baby is stretched out on Norm’s lap, or, more likely, on my dad’s lap (like she used to) while he talks to Norm (they loved to have long conversations).  But I am sadder than I thought I’d be.

2 thoughts on “requiescat in pace

  1. The last cat I technically owned was in pain towards the end of her life, and got increasingly more and more grouchy and anti-social. I remember the last time I ever saw her. She was walking away, turned to look at me and meowed a whiny meow. And that was the last we saw of her.

    Losing a pet is always a sad time…I’m so sorry.

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