Thank you so much for all of the kind words about Abby. A few days after it happened, I could barely tell people about it, but now nearly two weeks removed, it seems like it happened years ago. That’s the good/bad thing about life, I guess. It doesn’t let you grieve for long. I will miss her forever, though.
Thinking back, it’s so weird the amount of extra time that we added into our schedule for Abby. Feeding the cats used to be a Herculean, time-consuming task that required adding multiple medicines to Abby’s food, mixing it up and standing right next to her until she ate it (often requiring me to offer the food multiple times before Her Fussiness ate it), all the while keeping Sunny at bay with an outstretched foot because that sneaky cat bastard would purposely wait until I turned my back to jam her greedy little paw into Abby’s bowl and pull it toward her own overfed maw. Multiply this times four (Sunny only got fed three times a day because she is portly, so no “second breakfast” for her) and that’s a good hour a day we spent feeding Abby.
Now, feeding Sunny requires dumping some food into a bowl, walking away to refill her water dish, and then turning around to find her begging for food again, a scam I have almost bought into multiple times, doing the whole, “Did I feed her or not?” routine before catching myself.
It’s also much quieter around here. Much, much quieter. Abby was part Siamese and part obnoxiously chatty, so the lack of howling and caterwauling feels especially odd. We do get to sleep in until the alarm goes off though, which feels like a luxury. We joke that wherever Abby is now, she’s keeping everyone awake (plus, she’s probably hopped up on catnip and making out with the furniture, her typical response to catnip exposure).
A few people have asked how the other pets are doing, and I have to say I think Sunny knows what happened. The day we came home to find Abby, Sunny was abnormally quiet. She followed us into the bathroom where Abby laid, and then immediately high-tailed it out of there. She then saw us leave with Abby … and return with no Abby.
And, last week, we had to attend another wedding, so we boarded Shorty. Sunny saw us leave with Shorty … and return with no Shorty. You could almost see her tiny brain churning with fearful thoughts, which is why whenever we make a move toward the door, she bolts to hide on the top of the kitchen cabinets. It’s a very good thing she doesn’t have to go to the vet for another year, because I can only imagine how fun that drive would be.
Luckily, Shorty and Sunny (AKA the Orange Pet Brigade) get along famously. Based on the recent discovery of cat hair on the futon in Shorty’s room, Sunny must hang out in there when he’s in his crate to keep him company. And it seems that Shorty enjoys Sunny’s company as well, unless this happens:
Can I get a little help here, guys?
So we’re all adjusting and doing well.