Sad

We buried Harvey twelve weeks ago today.

Eighty four days.  Twelve weeks.  Three months.  One quarter of a year.

Things are back to normal, yet are completely different.

We have a dog.  She bears his name.  We have adopted another cat in his honour.

The Baron was knocked down.  He took a month to recover, and he is now ill with tonsilitis.  He takes so little time off of work, and in twelve weeks, he has been off for six of them.

I have torn a tendon in my ankle.  It healed, and then tore again.   I have been off work for a week trying to rest it but it is not improving.

We are trying to conceive.  We thought we had, but my temperatures took a leisurely drop.

Holly has become a real love bun of a cat. She spends her nights as close to me as she can, and if I have the temerity to fall asleep, well she slaps me across the cheek until I wake and stroke her some more.

The vet has diagnosed Willow as mad.  She may need a brain scan to rule out any medical reasons for her latest crisis.  She refuses to move from the bed at all, and refuses any interaction.  She can see, but she does not acknowledge.  I suspect she is sulking.

Whilst life is back to normal in all its bizarre glory, it is not normal.  There is still a Harvey shaped hole.  Complete with evil glare and swishing tail.

I still miss him so much.  I have trouble picturing his face sometimes, but I can remember so clearly how he felt to hold at night.  The way he used to wrap his paws around my neck and just tighten his claws. 

He was a special cat.  I still cannot believe that he is gone.

Comments

[Katie]

((hugs))

[Pez]

{{hugs}} Sarah.