Cat Piss

The other I was pissed that my cat pissed on a brand new mat we had bought for our washroom. I had woken up 2h late, and the first thing I did was step on cat piss. Not a great way to start the morning. I was mad.

Today, a cat that was once my wife’s died.

Her name was Maggie, she was a Siamese cat with a big heart, and a soothing soul. She was the first cat I personally felt comfortable with, for the simple fact that she would allow you to do anything with her: pet her, pick her up, squeeze her, anything. No complaints.

By the end of her life, she was very skinny, and dehydrated. It weights on me. Could I have done differently? Could I have helped in a way? It doesn’t matter now, she’s gone. Is this grief? This guilt? I don’t know.

It sucks that she is not here anymore. It did, however, make me think of what I can do for the ones who are still here. How I can make myself present in their lives, and what I can do to help them live more comfortable, with the resources I have.

The other day, I was resenting my cat for pissing on the new washroom mat. Today I was hugging her and telling her I love her, helping her be cozy in her blanket, and hoping she will live a life as long, or longer than Maggie did.

My mind keeps going to problem solving: what could I do? What should I do? What could I have done? What is there to do? But there’s nothing to solve. There’s only grief. Loss. The missing piece.

There’s nothing to solve.

There’s only everything to feel.

Maggie was buried at the backyard of the place she lived for most of her 13 years of life. A pine tree was planted in her honor.

Oh, Maggie, I can’t wait to see how much you grow.

Rest in peace.