Requiem for a Stinky Boy

I loved him from the first moment I laid eyes on him, in the birthday box smelling like baby powder. He fit in my palm, a soft bundle of  little grey tabby -all ears and tail and boundless energy. As he curled up and slept where I held him lightly to my chest, I fell deeper in love. He became my furry son.

His name was Stinky. Before you judge me, know that he actually chose this. I tried every interesting name I could think of but he wouldn't respond to any of them. Then one day, after he took one of his famous nature breaks, I passed by the litter box and exclaimed, "Oh my GOD! That's so stinky!" He stopped in mid-trot, turning to look at me. "Is that the name you want?" I asked incredulously. I tested it out a little later, calling him by that name, and there he was, trotting toward me from some corner he was exploring. He responded to Stinky for the 18 years he honored me with his company.

He's been with me for every day after that, barring that terrible night he stayed over at the vet's after being neutered. He's curled up next to be and slept, soundly snoring. We've played hide and seek; he's sunk his teeth into me a few times; we stared out the window together, each in our own reveries. He took my papers hostage, terrorized some of my friends, hid all my hair accessories, and faced the many changes in our loves with me.

Two weeks ago, life happened. He had been acting increasingly unsettled and meowing mournfully, so I decided to let him go outside which he'd done only a few times in his life. He was an indoor cat; but he would explore the world close to home, on occasion, and come back a few hours later. He hasn't been home since. 

I have been struggling with emotions of guilt and torment, resignation and acceptance. If I had not let him out, he would be still with me. Yet, I did not want to keep him prisoner, since it seemed he longed for freedom. Possibly one last hoorah. I have been praying that he hasn't suffered. That he's found the freedom he sought. That he is where he wants to be and he's happy. Yet, I ache for him, and the pain overtakes me. He was the last of my family, and I have been mourning for his loss.

Today, I celebrate his life. He was a splendid boy. Mischievous, funny, smart and loving. No one could have asked for a better son. And today, I take the time to honor him wherever he roams.

I love you Stinky. Thank you for being in my life.

Manifesto of Change

Here's the thing. I can write about my problems until my fingers fall off; it's therapeutic. However, I don't want to get stuck chasing my own tail of issues. To the outsider, I might be bitching too much, or focusing on my losses too much, or stuck in a holding pattern of regret.

Regret is a waste of time.

Things change even in infinitesimal amounts. This weekend my almost 20 year old indoor cat decided he had enough, taking off to explore the world as his last hoorah.  He's been out before, but never for four days; and I am left to struggle between sadness and hope. Sadness because I didn't get the chance to say goodbye, and hope because I know the courage his little soul has in taking on the world at his age. He has become my new hero who has delivered a powerful message to me. It's time for me to do the same.

I have decided to sell my house.

It's time to acknowledge that the reasons for buying a house have been miscalculated. I felt that in a house I would feel more of a sense of community, but I have not done so in either houses I have owned. Neighbours in reality, I have discovered, bear no resemblance to neighbours in the media. Sure, there are the waves and quick hellos as I walk to my car or water my garden or shovel the insane amounts of snow that fall, but there have been no block parties, or casserole dishes or friendly cups of tea. In a house, as in an apartment, I have been left pretty much to my own devices.

In a big city, everyone tends to their own, and good luck to you if you don't have a family or a group of friends that you've grown up with. You have to struggle to make and keep connections, otherwise you're a floating buoy in a sea of nuclear families and couplings. I thought purchasing a house would have given me a sense of belonging, instead, it's given me bills, and chores and headaches.

So it's time to call it a failed experiment and go back to compartmentalized living. I need an open concept unit with windows, in an area that's mixed residential and commercial. I want to be able to walk around, window shop, go for a coffee, get to know my neighbourhood. I need to be in a environment that's not solely occupied by families, couples and retirees. I'm looking for the right lifestyle, not just a place to live. I'll leave the gardening, snow shoveling and remodeling to those who love it.

It's time.

It's time to focus on the things I love like painting, jewelry-making, writing, dancing and photography.  It's time to look forward not backwards. It's time to heal from past wrongs, mistakes and abuses. It's time for my manifesto of change. Rather than go home to read or watch TV or putter around, I am putting together an interesting cocktail of classes for me to take during week nights. It's time to learn more about and participate in the things I have always wanted to do. It's time to act rather than wish things would change in my life. Now that I understand why I'm so screwed up, it's time to get over it, and just live the best life I can in a new environment with renewed interest.

It's time to follow in my beloved cat's footsteps. Meow.

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As I browsed through my favorite bloggers, I found that, yet again, Jamie Ridler has worked her magic. 

In her Wishcasting Wednesdays Jamie asks, "What do you wish to transform?"

 And there it is, perfectly aligned with my post. 

I wish to transform my life. 

Please join the Wishcasters as we weave some dreams into reality.