Since I lost all of my pets last fall, it’s been eerily quiet at the BagMomma house.
I knew when a stranger or the UPS man was at my door because Teddi always barked to let me know. Around 3pm each day, she would come into my office, plop her fat ass down next to my chair and SIGH and YAWN. It was a good indication that the day of work was almost to a close.
My cat, Luke, would sit in my office on the heater vent in the winter, and on the window seat in the spring when I had the windows open. Occasionally he would meow at me. Or beg for a chin scratch.
He was my audience. They both were.
When I had an important presentation to deliver for work, I would do the dry run with my pets. They would listen intently and sometimes offer comment. They would “yawn” if my delivery was dry or monotone… as if to say “you are boring me”.
When I had a bad day, Luke was my rock. When I cried, he would snuggle on my lap. I would pet him, and most times always feel better.
But now I have no audience. No one-sided conversations (except with some of the human dingbats I work with).
It’s lonely here during the day.
Last weekend, we happened to walk into a local pet store so David could see the fish. And in the back (in the Adoption center) was Mr. Kitty.
Mr. Kitty (ironically, that’s what hubby used to call Luke) was a black and white male cat, 5 years old. There was something about him that made me happy. I stared into his Plexiglas home and he stared back and meowed as he brushed against the glass. I read his dossier on the front… “Mr. Kitty was abandoned by his family when they moved out of state and couldn’t take him with them.”
My heart was heavy. How could someone leave a gorgeous looking cat behind just because they moved??? I just couldn’t fathom it.
We left the store and since Saturday, all I’ve thought about is Mr. Kitty.
Because this weekend, we are going back.
If Mr. Kitty is there, he will come home with me.