I’ve been procrastinating writing here because my last post was about the death of pets and the only blog I can write now is about the death of another. Last Tuesday, we came home to discover that Mushu, my fourteen year old cat, had passed away sometime during the day. Himself found her outside by the side of the house, where it looked like it was sudden and that she had fallen from a standing position. Not being a doctor, I’m guessing it was a heart attack or stroke, but we’ll never know for sure.
Losing a cat is, of course, a bigger deal than losing fish, and I have been very sad for the last week. This is one of the most horrible months that I’ve lived through in a long time, but Mushu’s death sort of takes the cake.
She was old and it was her time and she didn’t suffer, which is precisely the death I would have wished for her, but all the same, I miss her incessant meow and companionship. She had more than her fair share of quirks and was often difficult to live with, but I raised her from a wee thing and I miss her. Having only two cats feels strange on a number of levels. I keep waiting for her tiny body to jump up on my desk or chair next to me, to feel the indent in the blankets as she would jump to stay by my feet and keep watch over me.
She was a beautiful cat, with midnight fur that shone brown when she sat in the sunlight. When she was little, we called her a dragon because every fall, she’d grow two puffs of gray fur behind her ears. I can only hope that we did well by her. We buried her beneath the pear tree, so that she is still with us.