Since my Rosemary died on December 8 I have been overcome by a melancholic inertia that in conjunction with two sticky cats (Niño and Niña) have combined to make me reluctant to do anything except lie on my bed and stare at the ceiling while the two are comfortably ensconced on my lap.
I have told myself, “Tomorrow, bright and early after breakfast I will go to my oficina and write some blogs".
It has not happened. Today I forced myself.
It was a about five days ago that I dropped my Dunoon, English mug and broke it. I became saddened by the thought that the loss of any cherished (non-human, non-feline possession) entails that it is a small death, but a death nonetheless.
I remember being around 6 in Buenos Aires. I was in the tub and I was playing with a red little toy (it was a muñequito). I was not careful and when my mother pulled the plug the little doll went down the drain. I cried and cried. This must have been my first loss of a treasured possession.
Since 1975 when my Rosemary and two daughters arrived in Vancouver I have had five mugs to drink my tea. All five ended on the floor in pieces. The sixth one was a fave because it featured the likeness of the previous cat, Casi-Casi, who died two years ago in our current Kits home.
I tried to get a replacement and the closest is the one seen here. The other mug is one of Rosemary’s favourite Villeroy & Boch mugs. She would pour her 1% milk and then fill it with Nestle Quick which she would spoon (noisily) while we had our daily breakfast in bed.
I could do a search for my original mug. I found one in a gift shop on Prince Edward Island. When my daughter Ale, who was here for the weekend, saw the new Dunoon mug, she told me it was very nice. I have decided to keep it and be careful. If I am it may be the last one I ever own.