|Niña and Niño|
Estoy tan solo como este gato, y mucho más solo porque lo sé y él no.
I am as alone as this cat, and much more so because I know and he doesn’t.
Since my Rosemary’s death on December 9th I have done pretty well nothing except staring at the ceiling, reading and finding comfort in having Niña and Niño on my lap while in bed.
I have no idea how much consciousness they might have. Some say they have short memory spans. I am not so sure. Until a few weeks in November, when Rosemary was too sick to take her daily walk with Niño around the block, Niño has stayed at home except for his morning fling. About two weeks ago I took Niño out (and I have since, weather permitting around 3 in the afternoon). He seemed to know his route.
Perhaps before December 9th they had two humans to share their time with. Are they like glue with me now because they must share with only me? Or do they know about Rosemary’s disappearance?
I do know that I don’t feel too guilty about doing nothing with the cats around me all the time. I look at their faces and they stare back at me. Do they know about my grief? Are they trying to comfort me?
Whatever it is, I know that I am not alone. They are not Rosemary but there is something about them that reminds me more of Rosemary than a simple (but still painful) remembrance of her. Could it be that she touched them and talked to them?
In the Roman Catholic Church the Virgin Mary is seen as someone with lots of pull who can intercede if you need a favour (a prayer to be answered) from her Son. When Catholics pray to her they are not actually praying as you would pray to God. They are saying, “I need this and you have connections.”
Are my cats interceding for me to give me memories that are almost tactile?
On Tuesday I took Niño and Niña to the Kerrisdale Feline Hilton to be kept from 8 in the morning to 3 in the afternoon. A man came to the house at 9 to fumigate the house as we have a silver fish infestation. The reasons could be Rosemary’s hoarding newspapers and unimportant documents (boarding passes) or they could be my many books or all those photographs in mats in our storeroom.
When I returned from the vet, and before the fumigator showed up, it became a fact in my brain that since December 8 this was my first moment of being alone in the house. The cats are a living presence.
After the fumigation deadline was over it was a pleasure to pick up my cats and bring them home. It is impossible for me to take them for granted more know than ever before.
I now have one worry. If I were to part this world soon, who would take care of Niño and Niña? Could they go to Lillooet, BC and adapt to my Ale’s five cats? They could not possibly be able to live with Hilary’s Burnaby cat.
My cats have given me an immediate desire to keep living. Are they also a purpose?