Six weeks, they tell me,
is just long enough to build a habit;
I listen and I act impressed.
The inference here, of course,
is that I will soon forget the old
while at the same time I create the new.
But what if these six weeks I am gifted now as a beneficence
remain instead filled with hungry glances to
your corner, to my seat, to your grotty rug
as I wait to see you there? Or packed with
awkward pauses at an open door
held ajar a single beat – a moment longer – than it ought to be
allowing you to walk through before I do?
Or the unweighted silence of my empty lap that does not
have you curled, determined, purring, ammonite-like upon my knee?
Because I loved you, I will still look for you;
and miss you in the places where you used to be.
Six weeks may build a habit, yes;
but will not teach me to forget you and what you meant to me.
What a sweet love poem for your beloved cat.
Thank you, Paul. Animals have played a large part in my life and, though they may be small, the effect they have on our days is a profoundly large one. I’m not going to anthropomorphise the animals I know and love – but I am grateful to share my life with them and I mourn those I lose.
We never forget our fur-children. xoxo
No – we don’t. I rescue cats (I have a LOT) but each one has their own individual character and their own way of relating to me. I’m truly lucky to know them!
Sweet poem made me remember fondly my fur baby
6 weeks is not enough time
You’re absolutely spot-on, Deborah: it’s not enough time. The hardest part is unpicking the daily rituals we used to share with our wee ones. I count myself very lucky to have known and loved the animals who’ve come into my life.
I count myself luck, as well. The joy of a pet is a unique heaven on earth – kind of paradise