Isis hid out in the bathtub for most of the night. She’d get a bit more confident when I went in to pat her a while, and would peek out, follow me around a bit, purring constantly and jumping in my lap asking for new pats. What a giant sweetie.
At one point she wandered bravely out of the bathroom to explore the bedroom, but then she saw something out the corner of her eye… her reflection in the mirror. She streaked a terrified flash back to the bathtub and refused to budge the rest of the night. Paw little thing! :3
Brenton came over later and I was talking about whether to keep her or not. I said, “I don’t care either way,” which felt true… I didn’t particularly want her, but I didn’t really not want her either. “It’s strange,” I reflected, “this would never have happened before. I used to want ALL of the cats, and would never have dreamed of saying no.”
“What changed?” he asked.
I couldn’t answer because I knew if I did I would start to cry. I went from completely fine to utterly grief-stricken in one second.
What changed was Munchy died. I don’t want all the cats now. I don’t want any cats. I want Munchy.
I started to cry anyway. I realised that I didn’t want Isis. When I lay there thinking of her then I just felt miserable and bitter and angry that she wasn’t Munchy.
So I took her back first thing in the morning.
I got to work and a colleague said to me, “Are you alright this morning Jess? You look a little…”
“No,” I said, and started to cry.
I thought I was okay now. The past week I’d been thinking of him and smiling, not crying. I’m crying all over the place. Grief isn’t linear.