It was only two days after Poco died when my husband began telling me that I needed another cat. In response to his statement, I shot fire from my eyes and replied through gritted teeth, "I don't want another cat." Period. Uh-huh, yep, I was adament. So, we went to the pound. I knew that I could never, would never want to, replace Poco; however, Kenny thought I might feel better if only I could have my lap filled. I was dubious and swore that this "other" cat could be any color except tabby. I did not want to soil the memory of my baby by "replacing" him with a cat of the same color.As I looked over the 30 plus kittens at the pound, I wasn't impressed. Normally, I would be heartbroken at the sheer number of animals that needed homes, but I was grieving and selfish. All of the poor kittens were trying to get my attention by meowing, sticking their paws out at me and rolling over quite cutely. Though I probably should have been, my sadness prevented me from being overly moved at their attempts. I peeked in the back of one large cage and saw HER. Yes, she deserved capital letters. Unlike the others, she made no attempt to sway me with feline cuteness; instead, she stared at me and sent a booming message straight to the back of my brain. "I'm your cat." That was it. A few minutes later, the tabby who would be named "Popper" came home with us. Yes, another Tabby had chosen me and, despite my earlier protests, I was powerless to stop it.
Thankfully, she's no Poco. She is entirely, and wonderfully, unique. Almost. Is there something about tabbies that precludes a voracious sweet tooth? She's not lactose intolerant and, like her predecessor, she's not afraid to claim her food "rights." At first, I felt overwhelmingly guilty, but had to admit that the fuzzy little sweetness curled up in my lap actually DID help with the grief I was suffering from the loss of Roo. Little by little, I began to fall in love. I didn't want to, I didn't mean to...but I had little choice in the matter. I was afraid to give her my heart as it was broken already. Why would I want to chance that kind of pain again? The answer came to me a few days later. I don't want to suffer again, but the four years I had Poco were the best of my life. Had I not given him my heart, I would have lost more than I could have imagined. There are no guarantees, but the journey, no matter how long the duration, is the thing....the most wonderful thing. Poco would be pleased.
June 21, 2002: Poco loses his fight and breaks my heart...
OK, maybe it's not exactly "equal time," but there are a few others around here who deserve a picture or two.
