Archive for the ‘Lauchita’ Category

Little Bundle

November 2, 2014

I love it. I can still see you there, all curled up in the rectangular wicker basket where the old newspapers were kept. You sleep and the world is fine. You rest and you feel no pain. Be well, my little one. Someday we’ll be together again. I’ll again spend time with you in our Williamsburgh space up there in Heaven.

Not Another One

December 5, 2013

Not Another One

They don’t make them like her anymore. There are no selfless decent women like her. I haven’t seen them since she died all those years ago. A woman who would feel my pain as if it were hers. A woman who seemed hard because her life had been hard and harsh, but whose heart knew no equal.

I Can

November 22, 2013

I can

 

 

I can see us. Something in the paper reminded me and I just saw us. We were by the steps of the church, that great big historic church on Park Avenue. I see the steps leading up to the wide wooden doors. We slept there, you and I. You were in your little cage and I was with my back against the door. Those steps were our home, that home we weren’t quite sure of. People walked past us at all hours of the day and night. They loved you. You were so cute, a perfect girl cat.

I didn’t want to drag you back to that life. Something better—you deserved something better and I wanted you to have that instead of the street life.

 

100

November 19, 2013

100

100. I have counted them, one by one. 100 days since I last saw you. 100 days since I last petted and touched you. I loved you so much! I held you in my arms and we both felt good and whole. You were a little purring machine—my purring machine. There was someone to love you and someone to love me. I have missed you all these days and nights. I will miss you the rest of my life.

Don’t Care

October 11, 2013

Doesn’t Matter

 

I don’t care. I just don’t. What you looked like during our last days together is unimportant. You were not as cute or as young as when I first had you. But you were with me. You were there always; ready to comfort, ready to be my friend. When I didn’t feel well, I knew by looking at you how concerned you were. You stood by me. You stood near me. That’s all I cared about. Your heart was big. It will live forever.

 

 

 

Creative Grief

September 25, 2013

Your paw. Your right front paw. You used to stretch it to greet me when I came back home. Your green eyes smiled. I’d pick you up and everything was fine. Remembering these moments helps me cope with the loss of you.

Survivor

September 9, 2013

Survivor 

I am here. You are not. I miss you. I am not sure that you know that. Where are you? Where do souls go after the body dies and becomes ashes? Your spirit is with me. I felt it this morning when your little face seemed to be pressed against mine. It was so real, as if we were still living in the old days.

 

No More

August 26, 2013

No More

 

I wake up. I look at where you used to be—the place on the bed by our pillow. There is no you there. I shake my head in disbelief and close my eyes. My heart sees you as you were not too long ago, in June or July of this year. I smile. I stretch out my arm and my hand touches the edge of the bed. Rest little one. Rest in Heaven. I don’t know what my life will be like without you. Whatever it will be, to me you are not gone. Our souls are together.

Escape

August 26, 2013

Escape

 

You wanted to escape. The little cage was too confining and you weren’t used to it. You pushed your little head up against the top of the cage. It was made of a hard material and wouldn’t break. The cage was the last thing I used to put on top of the red cart. I can see us now—me pushing the cart up and down Park, Madison and Lexington Avenues. You looked through the bars of the metal door until we got to a safe spot.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Ashes

August 23, 2013

Ashes

 

Lauchita’s ashes! My little cat’s remains fit into a small zip lock bag! I can see her as she was in life, so energetic and feisty and loving! I can feel her kisses when she’d wake me up in the morning—I feel all this as if it were a dream. She’s gone, never to return.