Mouse

Reese woke up sometime after 8:30 and Max soon after. Eric had the night shift with the baby so I was keeping both kids entertained best I could so he could sleep in a bit. Normally Mouse is all over me to be fed immediately and I remember vaguely being grateful that I wasn’t tripping over her in the kitchen while trying to fix Max’s breakfast one-handed as Reese needs to be constantly held.

After Eric woke up and had taken the baby I went into the kitchen and realized I’d never fed the cats. That, and I hadn’t seen Mouse all morning. I thought Eric had probably locked her outside like he did a week prior, though that had only been for a few hours. I chuckled to myself as I drew back the blinds and peered into the back. I wanted to tease my forgetful husband. But no Mousey. I went to investigate under the bed in the baby’s room, her preferred sleeping spot when Eric told me she was in the family room, on the chair. He’d just seen her.

I walked over. “mousey… Mousey…” She didn’t stir, so I pet her. Something wasn’t right, so I pet her once more and there was a distinct hardness beneath her unusually soft grey fur.

I yelled for Eric and he came out, hearing something urgent in my voice. I stepped back and watched as he pet her, watched as his face fell and I started crying very hard.

I got her back in 2000 or 2001. She lived to be 13 or 14, I think. She was getting old, we knew it. This wasn’t a shock, but it was an awful surprise. I loved that cat so hard and treated her like my kid for a decade before I actually had one. She moved with me to new York, she began married life with me. She was so very, very loved.

I am so sad. So incredibly sad.