Grief and Grieving

 

On Monday, August 25th, we had to put our beloved cat Liza (with a z) Lou to rest forever. I say beloved, but we had a difficult and conflictual relationship with Miss Liza (with a z). She came to us at about a year old as a feral cat from the streets of University Park. Granted, the streets of our suburban hamlet are not particularly hard-scrabble. Bucolic is more accurate. Shelby and Emma and I had seen the cat who became Miss Liza (with a z) for many weeks before she ended up under the tree where the beloved feeds the birds. We always joked that she chose us. She saw us with these big hunkering dogs and thought, well, certainly, they can afford to feed me. She also discerned the very best way to get into our home: threaten the beloved’s birds.

Just two weeks after we brought Miss Liza (with a z) into our home, there was a terrible storm and five day power outage in our neighborhood. It was sweltering so we decamped for the Residence Inn near the Baltimore airport. We had to get a two bedroom suite because still no one could share a room with Liza (with a z). She had a full bedroom and bathroom to herself. We felt she mocked us during the whole trip as we stumbled over each other in the living room and other bedroom. As it should be, as it should be, she mumbled.

For the first six months, it was all hissing and spitting with Miss Liza (with a z). She drew blood from everyone in the family at some point. She staked out the space under the bed and if anyone should approach it she let us know she was there and we were not to encroach on her. She mellowed though and eventually found a good space with the dogs and with us humans. The most loving thing she ever did is sleep next to me all night the first night I was home after my mother’s death.

Liza (with a z) became ill a week before and nothing could turn it around. We concluded it was renal failure and while a fighter and a pistol, she seemed ready to move on to hunting mice elsewhere.

Like all human people, I feel as though I have too much experience with grief. And it came rushing back after Liza’s death. When my sister died, I was twenty-five. The first year after was a bit of a blur, but I worked at a frantic pace, even as more friends were dying around me from complications of AIDS. When my mother died eighteen months ago, I was surprised at how much grief affected me. Working brought no relief. Then again in late August, those circles and circles of sorrow.

On Saturday, though, after Liza’s (with a z) passage, I realized, there was one thing that would bring me joy. Bliss, even. A kitten. And I realized there is absolutely no reason not to rescue a kitten immediately. After all, there are lots of kittens looking for homes. I cleared it with the beloved (who was more reticent). On Wednesday, I found our next “little squeaker.” A small dil tortoiseshell kitten. She is just two months and two pounds. She comes home tomorrow.

I know this will not erase the grief. It will continue. My mind and my body continue to work through the loss, but for now I’m excited for the “little squeaker” to come home–and happy that with this grief, with this grieving process, I can do something to lessen the pain.

Here is the “little squeaker” who will come home tomorrow:

Filed under: Uncategorized