Most Wednesdays, we explore different ways home is changed, improved, and complicated when cats are part of that home.
This is one of the last photographs I took of Chase Bird. I took it on Oct. 16 last year, 11 days before he died unexpectedly.
On that day, I was keeping Chase Bird and Abbey in the kitty Zen room with the door closed while the HVAC man checked the furnace before winter weather set in.
I snapped this picture with my phone, and it’s a precious picture to me. Abbey and Chase Bird relaxing together, looking comfortable with each other. They didn’t like being closed in a room, but they were OK.
Six months ago today, Chase Bird made his journey to the Rainbow Bridge. While I still cry—every day—I also hold a lot of memories of him that make me happy and comfort me.
Our home is filled with memories of the cats who are no longer with us. I remember where they liked to nap, where they liked to play, what spot in the kitchen they chose to eat in. Snuggles, playtime, scratches, purrs, meows, and mews. What they sounded like as they walked or ran into a room. How they bent over a food bowl. What they liked best to eat. Where I tended to them when they were sick. Where I held them last.
The time I sat with them in a room because I was afraid the HVAC man would hold the door open and they would get out.
I’m thankful for these memories. Because love is wrapped up in all of them.