Chico

This is one of the toughest entries I've written in the nineteen year history of Lamplight Drivel.  Our beloved cat Chico, with us for twenty years and eight months, passed away on February 9th.  It has taken this long for me to be able to write about it.  My wife and I continue to be weeping wrecks as we look at the couch and ottoman he slept on for the past few years.  The bed became too high for him to clear.  I had considered getting some steps for him.  We did buy one of those kitty condos but perhaps it was too late in his life; he barely sniffed it.  We ended up giving it to some friends who have two young spitfires.  

We kept his water bowl out for a few months.  His litterbox remains in the master bath, filled with fresh litter.  His scratch mats are still positioned in front of the sliding glass doors in the living room and bedroom.  Chico always liked to gaze outdoors.  Plenty of birds, lizards, squirrels, and iguanas to keep him amused.  

My wife-to-be brought him home in the fall of 2005.  He picked her.  My first image was of two white paws under the bed.  He remained there for a day until he knew he could trust us.  Soon enough he was sporting kitten rowdiness. There would be lots of play over the years.

He never was an outdoor kitty.  Likely why he lived so long. That and the endless love he received.  And returned to us.  I hope he didn't feel as if he missed out on something.  Never having his paws on the grass.  His absence has a left a void as vast as the Grand Canyon.  I always said a cat makes a house a home.  

I imagine that Chico is still there in some form.  Spirit kitty, walking just behind us.  Cuddling next to us in bed, like always.  I also imagine him in kitty heaven, having made his way over the Rainbow Bridge.  Playing with my childhood kitties Mickey and Tiger.  Waiting for us to join him.  I don't want to imagine a finality where he or any of us does not live on in an afterlife.  Not going to preach here.  My wishes sustain me during these early days of Forever.  Never seeing my kitty on this Earth again.  So I need to see him elsewhere.

I torture myself by following cat pages on Facebook and Instagram.   Filled with poetry and cat mom and dad laments.  Animated images of felines crossing over that bridge, taking one last look at those left behind.  There are words of terrible familiarity, shared among all who have lost a fur baby.  Little things like how you swear you heard lapping out of the water bowl as you were drifting off to sleep.  Felt something next to you on the sofa.  These pages are lovely and cathartic, but serve to trigger the sorrow.  For a time I'll avoid them, but can't help to return.

I talk to Chico every day, and plan to continue for the rest of my own life.  It keeps him in my heart and mind.

There is far more I could write about our kitty.  I haven't written a fraction of what I intended.  It's just so hard. It's as if we lost a child.  He certainly was a family member.  Still is.  Plenty of memories.  One involves the aftermath of dental surgery; one of Chico's canines lost a shard and he had to have the rest of it removed.  He bounced back easily, even at the age of seventeen.  He was a little fighter.  I can't express how much I miss him.  Maybe I can do another series, there's a wealth of material.