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Blogs by Ella Rydzewski
Memories of Smokey 8/14/2017 2:05:37 PM
Grief After Loss Memories of Smokey
2001-2017
He lies down beside me as I begin the day’s work on my computer. I am drawn to touch his soft fur that flows into several shades of gray to almost white through his coat. He is so like the toy cotton cat I carried around somewhere during the years of 3 to 5. I used to stop and kiss it a lot with that special feeling of love that centers in the lips—a sensate feeling of love.
Whenever he comes close, that same sensate desire takes over to cuddle and pet him and even put my face in the soft fluffy down that he wears. I am always amazed at the size of his feet—this is no ordinary cat—he is large compared to most cats. At almost 20 pounds. His feet are white but look a little soiled from walking on the floor. Little tufts of hair emerge from between each toe. His large body, made larger with so much fine hair sports a long tail that is more like a mop. His face is also large and flat but more pleasant looking than those pushed-in faces of some breeds. Long white whiskers protrude from each side the nose. His eye are blue, a bit pale but still quite blue. Based on the points of his Siamese ancestors his face is a darker gray, but with a white chin.
The ears are darker too and seem to reflect his mood from forward—content—to back—annoyed. No one needs to tell me this; I instinctively know. We are close and know each other’s moods. We talk—me in a childish tone and him in many different kinds of meows from urgent—I want food or come play with me or I want to go to the basement—to short mews of acknowledgement when I touch him or walk into the room.
He often invites me to play or greets me by rolling over so that his tummy can be petted. This begins some wrestling type of play, and we are like kittens together. I wonder how much he misses the other cats he lived with when we brought him here at age 4; now he is ten years old. We are growing old together. He is my gift from God.
