If I can avoid it, I don’t like penning two sad posts back-to-back. Today, I can’t avoid it. But given who’s the source of sorrow, I can’t be too sappy, either. Not if I don’t want a certain sleek little mink of a cat to haunt me haughtily.
I’m not gonna try to drizzle this with syrup, kittens. We’ve been battered, beaten and boxed about the ears this month.
The equation always holds, but that never makes it feel right: The longer you’ve loved someone, the larger “goodbye” looms.
He came to us after one hurricane. He left us on the eve of another. Like the wind we can’t see coming or going, Hobbes has flown from our grasp.
There’s a hole in the world today. If you trace the outline, that hole has many colors, many toes…and it’s being filled to the brim with too many tears.
Jonathan said something both ironic and profound this week. Actually, he said many such things. But the particular Rosenberg koan that comes to mind today is this: “We gotta put a moratorium on death.”
We were just talking about Bonnie. We were just saying, “She looks good! I mean, she looks terrible, but she still looks good. Bright eyes, bright spark, still eating, still beautiful.” Always beautiful. Always loved. But, as of this afternoon, no longer within our grasp.
This is a post I never wanted to have to write. This is a post I “should,” “rationally,” have been long prepared to write.
The world is a little less hairy today. Tabby’s Place is mourning the passing of one Ms. Claudette.