It's the small things that are hurting. For years, whenever the TV said "viewer discretion is advised", I'd say "Be discreet, Max!" So Monday night we were catching up on The Blacklist and yep, I said "Be dis-" and caught myself and fell apart a little.
Every time I go downstairs it hits me a little, because I'm used to giving him a scritch every time I pass him. Every time I hear Bash's bell, because if I'm hearing one cat, I want to know the location of both cats. When Bash is eating, I automatically look for Max to make sure Bash isn't shoving him out of the way.
We haven't had only one cat in over ten years, save for the two weeks between Tor's death and Bash's adoption, when Max was so forlorn.
Bash is doing okay being an only cat for now. He follows me around a lot, but we've established that he really needs human companionship and frequent base-touching. He's not crying or exhibiting any behavior that makes me think he needs a feline buddy. Which is good, because I'm not ready yet.
I love Bash, but Max was special. I knit and wonder if I'll ever again have a cat who likes to sit on my lap under a shawl-in-progress. I cry and wonder if I'll ever again have a cat who automatically assists human in distress. I don't know. All cats are different. Bash is a good cat and I love him, but I miss having someone on my lap.
Otherwise.... life is. Adam and I are going to The Slutcracker tomorrow. Elayna has finals next week, and on Thursday we'll bring her home for winter break, which is almost a month. I'll have a Sekrit Project to keep me busy next week.
How are you?