The little angel had an event last night, so we didn't tell her about Bella until around 8 p.m., which is normally when she's getting ready for bed. She walked into the house and immediately asked for Bella, because -- get this -- she had made her a get well soon card at school.
My heart started leaking two seconds after we walked in the door.
When she understood that Bella had died, her face crumpled. She didn't cry out loud, just did that face-crumpling thing you do when it's pure grief. I held her like a baby, my baby who looks so old now with her long red hair and her new freckles she's never had before. We cried and rocked.
I told the little angel I thought Sybil had been waiting for Bella at the pearly gates so that Bella could sit next to Sybil at lunch. Then Beloved started musing about what they ate for lunch in cat heaven -- maybe mice sandwiches? And the little angel laughed out loud. Beloved kept going -- perhaps Bella could teach Sybil how to eat plastic? And Sybil would ask Bella how old the little angel was now, and they would sit around gossiping like two old grandmas on their kitty lawn chairs while eating mouse bon-bons and complaining about the humidity.
He had her laughing all through clean-up and teeth brushing, and it wasn't until she lay down in bed that she just kept repeating, "I miss Bella." That was also the first thing she said when she woke up this morning.
Hell, it was the first thing I thought when I woke up this morning and realized there was no silky kitty to wind herself around my legs and whine until I fed her.
Having had another cat already die has eased this transition. We have a reference point for the little angel, and for ourselves. We know we can love again, in a different way. This morning my girl just kept saying, "But the new cat has to be exactly like Bella," and that's the hard thing to understand, the hardest part of grief -- there can never be another cat exactly like Bella. She was unique. And it sucks, sucks, sucks that we lost her so young and so fast.
However, adopting Bella eased the pain of losing Sybil. It eased it a lot. Having a new furry friend to focus on is very distracting. Today is normally my writing day, but I don't think I have it in me this week. I finished up a few things yesterday and -- barring chaos in my e-mail -- I'm going to take a head-clearing walk, pick up the little angel, and start casing the animal shelters of the Greater Kansas City Metro to find our latest kitty lottery winner.
Wanted: one cat, age 1-5, declawed. Must be able to entertain self during the day without other animals around. Must be available for fashion sessions directed by the little angel. Must tolerate barrettes and occasionally hats. Must enjoy watching Deadliest Catch. Must be lap sitter and loud purrer. Must be able to dry tears with silky fur and, most importantly, must be able to eat monsters.
