There are definitely times when having an anonymous blog is a good thing, where you can be completely crazy and not have to worry about the phone calls the next day. This is one of those times.
So here’s the deal: our cat died today. Or rather, we had to put her down because she was suffering and was probably going to die this weekend anyway, gasping for air in front of the kids. The kids bawled their eyes out when we told them. Our cat was 12, which might seem old but up until very, very recently, she would probably strike most people as closer to 6 or 7. She was spry, playful, healthy, affectionate, and lacking in the typical old fat cat tendencies you might expect. She did not look like a cat who would have roughly 10% lung capacity, caused by god-knows-what.
This downturn happened very suddenly. In fact, the downturn started at precisely the time that I began “sitting” with my soulmate MH. MH, the careful reader will remember, is completely incapacitated with Lyme disease and largely isolated because she can’t bear most forms of visual or auditory stimulus. Her friends and family now “sit” with her on a schedule, where she’s in her room and we are wherever we are. It seems to help her.
So here’s where I run off the cliff screaming New Age nonsense. I offerred to sit with her every night while waiting for my son to fall asleep — a 15 minute window that is about the only thing constant in my schedule. I would sit in his room, with my cat on my lap, and try to connect with her across the country in her room. And I could do that, I could really feel her with me most nights.
And here’s the crazy-ass punchline. Suppose, just suppose, that there is some energy being exchanged between MH and I. My cat is on my lap. My cat picks up some of MH’s energy, which — what? — is infected in some way? And causes her lungs to slowly fill up with fluid. I mean, I’m really seriously considering that this might have happened, which should be alarming to me but isn’t. The timing is just too weird. And in this mental contortion, I now have MH leaping up from her bed tomorrow morning, cranking up the music and dancing and running out into the sunshine, because her bad energy transferred out of her and is now resting in a freezer at the animal hospital near my house.
Maybe it’s just the grief talking here. Or maybe it’s — how else can I work something about my dead cat into a blog about sexuality and spiritual growth?
[UPDATE]: I buried my cat this afternoon and tonight I received an email from MH. No, make that two emails now, plus several pictures. This is from someone who has been sending one- and two-word emails because it’s too physically painful to do more. Literally, I have not gotten more than 8 words total in the past several weeks. But tonight’s emails — well, we’re now up to 64 words.
Coincidence? I don’t know, but that’s not going to stop me from freaking out about it just a little bit. Is she cured? No — but how many pets would it take for that? I don’t know, but I think I’m going to hold off on getting another cat for a while.