I wrote an article a few months ago about my beautiful Pookie, who passed away earlier this year at the age of fifteen. It was one of the most difficult times in my life, he was my baby, my friend, my pride and joy who I raised from a kitten, and I was struggling.
In the aftermath, some people encouraged me to get a new cat, reminding me that there are many needing good homes in shelters. This, I knew, was true, but I couldn’t imagine calling another cat “my cat” or giving it my heart as I had with Pookie, at first. We had a special bond. I hope we still do.
After a few months something unexpected occurred though. Obviously I was missing Pookie. Missing doesn’t even cover it, I was bereft. But I realised I wasn’t just missing Pookie, who couldn’t be replaced, I was missing the company of cats in general. We’ve always had cats in my family, and it’s been a very long time since I spent any amount of time without a cat around. For me, it’s nearly as bad as lacking in human company for extended periods, maybe worse even. I missed their fur and their grace, their purring, their craziness. It was just weird to not have a cat around. So I started to contemplate it.
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