Into Every Life, A Little Rain Must Fall...

I've had quite a sad last few weeks - our little cat unexpectedly died.

Now, a few words about the cat:

She was 12 years old (maybe 13).

She was an abandoned kitten when my wife rescued her from a snowstorm all those years ago.  

I told my wife that we weren't keeping her, but she smuggled the cat back in her jacket while I drove us home.

I was allergic to that cat.

My son was allergic to that cat.

No matter how many times I clearly told her that I did not like her, she was determined to sit on my lap.

She couldn't ever (and I mean EVER) hit the litter tray when she did a little poo.

She sat in my clothes whenever she found the laundry basket.

She would vomit up hairballs and leave them for me to step in whilst in my bare feet in the middle of the night.

She cost me tons of money.

Whenever I was sat down, she would stand in front of me with her backside right in my face.

She annoyed me to no end.

And, ironically, now every time I walk through the front door I look for her in the spot she used to always sit (annoyingly, just at the top of my leather recliner, which has many scratch marks that illustrate her efforts to save herself from accidentally falling off when she had fallen too soundly asleep to be aware of the constant effort of gravity to remove her from the chair...).

And yet, I miss her and am grateful that she was a part of our family.

It is odd how pets and people become a part of your life and weave themselves into your plot to the point that there is a void when they are gone.  I saw in the paper that Richard Briers passed away a few days ago also.  There was something about him that was so cheerful and pleasant and I find myself regretting his passing also.  To me, he will always be Bertram Wooster.

I'd feel quite gloomy if I wasn't so grateful for all that I do still and am able to enjoy.