Penny From Heaven
A hole has appeared in the fabric of life today.
Like a Tom-torn window in a cartoon curtain, it is certainly cat-shaped, and has certainly left the velvet lining in shreds.
As Tracey and I stand together, hand in hand, gazing at this new unwelcome window, we recognise that it cannot be patched, cannot be repaired and cannot be replaced in any way. Beyond the ragged frame, we can see nascent sunbeams dancing on the fields, and a little rainbow splashing its way across a muddy path. It is but for a few moments that it lives, before shuttering down in measured grey venetian blinds of shadow. A sudden sharp relief; a golden brown cotton-cloud flits across the cold slate sky. We watch, willing it to change to a familiar tab-stripe, noting the way the trees on the horizon gracefully shape themselves into fluffed tails as it passes them.
Our way of coping with loss is to share it. Together, in an embrace - the way she taught us. And indeed, this cat did teach us such things. How to stay close on a sofa, how to bring routine to chaos, how to keep calm and carry on.
This beryl-eyed love-child of ours loved us simply, and wanted nothing more than exactly that in return. She was our first-born and longest lived, sharing every joy and sorrow, every fair-weather fortune and rainy-day worry.
She sleeps now with the soundness of the innocent. The sweet release from the recent loneliness of being completely deaf, and - in her last few days - also blind, means that we somehow also can rejoice in her freedom from discomfort. I was with her to her last caught breath. Her head gently cradled in my hands, so she could know I was there. And there I remain.
She will return in time, to lovingly revisit her favourite places - the shady hedge, the sunny lawn.
We miss her. Yet carry her with us. Knowing she watches from her new window.
Penny: 1992-2011
Like a Tom-torn window in a cartoon curtain, it is certainly cat-shaped, and has certainly left the velvet lining in shreds.
As Tracey and I stand together, hand in hand, gazing at this new unwelcome window, we recognise that it cannot be patched, cannot be repaired and cannot be replaced in any way. Beyond the ragged frame, we can see nascent sunbeams dancing on the fields, and a little rainbow splashing its way across a muddy path. It is but for a few moments that it lives, before shuttering down in measured grey venetian blinds of shadow. A sudden sharp relief; a golden brown cotton-cloud flits across the cold slate sky. We watch, willing it to change to a familiar tab-stripe, noting the way the trees on the horizon gracefully shape themselves into fluffed tails as it passes them.
Our way of coping with loss is to share it. Together, in an embrace - the way she taught us. And indeed, this cat did teach us such things. How to stay close on a sofa, how to bring routine to chaos, how to keep calm and carry on.
This beryl-eyed love-child of ours loved us simply, and wanted nothing more than exactly that in return. She was our first-born and longest lived, sharing every joy and sorrow, every fair-weather fortune and rainy-day worry.
She sleeps now with the soundness of the innocent. The sweet release from the recent loneliness of being completely deaf, and - in her last few days - also blind, means that we somehow also can rejoice in her freedom from discomfort. I was with her to her last caught breath. Her head gently cradled in my hands, so she could know I was there. And there I remain.
She will return in time, to lovingly revisit her favourite places - the shady hedge, the sunny lawn.
We miss her. Yet carry her with us. Knowing she watches from her new window.
Penny: 1992-2011
posted by therussian | 2/26/2011 10:24:00 PM
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