Diary of a SubUrban Housewife

When You Just Stop Looking

If you've spent any time here with me, one thing you've gathered about me is that I'm a "pet person". I've had pets almost my entire life. I grew up with a dog as a pet, a schnauzer that my mother had until I was long-gone from her house, and in college. At my dad's house we had two dogs.

When I moved out of my parent's house and was on my own it was natural for me to want a pet. A dog was not an option so I got a cat. Natasha. She and I have been together for just about forever. She went missing a few years ago. I talk about that here and her return home here.

The thing about that second entry is that you'll notice I never stopped looking. While I was devastated, I must have known in my heart that she was alive and well and was going to turn up....eventually....it was just a matter of when.

This time it's different.

As I mentioned a few days ago, Natasha had been sick. But a few doses of antibiotics and some fluids really seemed to perk her up. In fact, when we returned from the vet she lounged with us on the couch, something she hasn't done for a very long time. I reported her "right as rain".

Well things seemed to take a bit of a turn for the worse as the weekend progressed. She was hiding all of Saturday, which in itself is not too unusual, and was not a cause for alarm.

But when I saw her Sunday night I knew things were not good. She was hoarse (yes, cats can lose their voices). She seemed to have lost even more weight, because apparently the six pounds she'd lost over the course of the last year was not enough and you know, five pounds is maybe just too much for a cat. I gave her fresh water. She did not want to drink. I put her on the dryer and petted her, trying to coax her to eat something. I poured a dish of kitty milk for her. She took a few feeble bites of food and drank a bit of the milk but was uninterested in any of it.

I gently carried her down from the dryer and put her in her bed in my office.

I spent hours with her Sunday night. I talked to her. I held her. I petted her. I cried. I could see the writing on the wall.

Chuck was already asleep so I planned to talk to him in the morning about helping me to take Natasha to the vet. I knew I could not go alone.

Monday morning I went into my office at home and Natasha was not in her bed. I knew. At work all day I was out of sorts but didn't say anything. I came home and made a beeline for my office. No kitty. I tore the house apart. Every closet. Every nook and cranny. Under every piece of furniture. Inside the lining of every piece of furniture. No kitty. I told Chuck. I cried.

All night I kept looking.

Tuesday I asked Chuck if he would go under the house and look for my baby. I knew he was reluctant and if he didn't want to I would be OK with it. But he did. He searched every square inch. No kitty. Again, I searched every closet. Every nook and cranny. Under every piece of furniture. Inside the lining of every piece of furniture. No kitty. I cried some more.

But I kept looking.

I knew she was gone but I kept looking.

Yesterday I cried. Only a few times, though the tears are always just barely under the surface. But I only looked a little bit.

Today I cried. A lot. But I haven't looked.

I know.

Kittys go away to die. It' their instinct. They find a small dark corner and go.

My baby lived a long, healthy, full life. She was a house cat. With an open door not 15 feet from where she spent most of her life, she only used that door one or two times.

I hoped that when it was her time she would go peacefully in her bed. But instinct is hard to fight.

I know my baby is in kitty heaven. I know in my heart. But I need to find her. I need closure. I need to be able to stop crying.

Posted by beth at May 20, 2004 08:02 PM