This is very hard to do, and I’m trying to do it without falling apart, but I can’t guarantee that I won’t…
If you’ve been with MBB since the beginning, you know that one of the cornerstones of the blog is Tabs, our — and I mean our as in all of us — our sweet, sassy kitty model extraordinaire.
There’s no easy way to tell you this, but my constant companion for the last 12 years will soon be leaving this earth.
We got news from the vet last week that Tabs has terminal cancer, and that if we’re lucky, he’ll be with us for anywhere from three to six weeks.
Not even that is a guarantee, though. He could be here for a day, two days… I just don’t know. And it’s been difficult to process all of this. On one hand, part of me wants to say, “You sweet, sweet cat. You came home to say goodbye to us and to let us have more time with you, and even as you’re on the kitty runway to heaven, you’re allowing me, El Hub, Connor and all of your fans to spend a little extra time with you, and to try to fathom how it’s going to be when you’re gone, just to allow us to love you a little bit longer.”
I can’t believe that this cat who has taught me so many things about love, and the unconditional giving of love, is still teaching me things… How to grieve and how to mourn.
The following pics were taken today on our morning walk.
I read somewhere once that grief is a lot like standing on the shore of the ocean when the tide is high and the waves pummel you over and over again. You don’t know if you’re going to drown, and then when the tide goes out, occasionally, it’ll touch you and your toes. Then, when it’s really far out but your feet are still wet, and you barely perceive it?
That’s what I’ve been feeling for the past few days. It alternates between the sense of dread of knowing that the house will be empty without him, but knowing how it’ll feel, if that makes any sense…
I’m wondering how our family will be — our family of four — how it will be as a family of three, and wondering how can I try to be happy or joyful when I feel this weight on my heart. And I feel foolish for not always paying as much attention to him as I should have, especially over the last few years… I feel foolish when he seems to have a good day, and I see sparks of his old tabby self — a little bit of cattitude, a lot of love, and the part of me that wants to hope, it says, “Oh, maybe a miracle will happen. Maybe he’ll get better.” But I know that’s not possible.
I know that after he leaves us, that life will go on, but I don’t know how it’s going to feel.
I wonder if I’ll ever be as happy as I have been with him in my life. I know that sounds so dramatic, but he’s been my constant companion every day for more than 12 years.
My best friend. 💖
Your friendly neighborhood beauty addict,