I have an hour for this. I make an hour for this.
This morning, I’m in a hotel room away from home. Away from a home Rebecca is closing on right now, as I type. Dealing with lawyers and bankers and realtors who collectively seem bad at their jobs. Assuming their jobs are to deliver a good service. I am two flights away from where I need to be but I will do my work today, which is to get on two planes and arrive in New York and be so very happy to see my wife and cats again.
And now this is about you. About cats. Maybe about all of us.
It’s been a tough year. Don’t I always say that? This one has been a belter. Because of marriage and love and health and money and work and…a search for peace and safety. We finished 2022 with optimism, and then it all went to hell.
You know what that looked like, when Rebecca or I, or both, were in trouble. When we struggled. I’ll tell you something; I wish I had spent the five years we had knowing what I know now. I would have done better, been better, lived better.
Okay, so here’s us:
I say goodnight to you, and Sully, and Pussy Galore every night. And if the cats in our house are struggling, I ask for your help with that. I asked last night, as they move from the hotel to their new house today. For them to trust Rebecca, for them to be as comfortable and calm as possible.
We will make the new house work for Maisy, Daisy, Kitten, and Milo. We’re heading into a snowy, cold winter and it will be an inside season. But there will not be racing traffic and bullets. They will be safe, and just maybe, there will be a real fireplace with a real fire, which they’ve never had before, and they’re cats, you know?
Here’s how it’s been going for the cats who are alive in this house:
Maisy is just more like Maisy. A few nights she stayed out late, making me look for her, making me fear for her. Otherwise she spent her time with me in the classroom, in the catio, in the yard. She seems healthy. I love her very much. She is approaching her 12th birthday, like her sister. I look ahead, the thing cats don’t do, and I am unsure how I will deal with her death. So, I should make the best of each day and moment, then thing that cats do.
And I tell her, I ask two things of her. 1, to always come home (just like I do). And 2, to just be a cat. I tell her not to take on my badness, my stress and anxiety. She just has to be a cat.
Daisy is beautiful and smart and hungry and cross and she still has the best of purrs. She weighs too much, we have tried different diets and we have failed. She has the best summer, sitting on the deck, hours at a time. We must find something similar for her. I believe all cats need to feel the air on their fur, to smell the outside as well as just see it. We will find a way to do that in our new home.
Kitten is healthy and sweet and still scared of all kinds of things. She had covid late in 2022, week after the problems she had in the autumn. It’s fair to say that she nearly died. We watched her struggle to breath, the most shallow of breaths. And we nursed her back to health. And Murph, I know I find it so hard when cats get sick, and we have four cats, right? And all of us are getting older. I don’t want this move to have aged those cats, to knock their confidence – yeah, the stupid shit I worry about. Chances are, they will be happier in this new home. But this stuff doesn’t happen by accident.
Milo has grown into his role. He is the boy cat. He has done his best to look after Rebecca. Hey, he’s not you, but he’s a good boy cat. He had a great summer and fall outside, and he loves to be with his people outside. When stressed heN over-grooms, and he’s had stomach troubles. We are looking forward to the cats-only vet in our new town. No more doggy noises or smells at the vet.
All 4 cats endured 775 miles in the car, and a week of hotels. They have also put up with house viewing after house viewing, stuck in their carriers, and the removal of most of their stuff. Surely, this new home, with hey, their scratching posts, their litter boxes, their toys and bedding, all of that must be good news. Just a few hours until Rebecca takes them there, as long as (and I am anxious with every text message) the closing happens.
This is all in my head right now. Last night, I dreamed of a dying cat, of grief and horror. And I will breathe through it, I will ground myself and do what I have to do. But I’m still learning how to do this, and sometimes I get it wrong.
We can’t take the Sully tree. It is a proud young oak now, tripled in size. The cats have sat next to it, rubbed against it. Birds land on it, squirrels climb up it. We couldn’t take it with us and so I said goodbye to it. Because I talk to trees these days. Especially cat trees. Rebecca asked if I’d chosen a new tree in our new yard as the Sully tree. I hadn’t thought of it that way, but maybe it will work.
Just like my Murphy walk that I will take on our day, this Friday. I can’t go to our train tracks, but I can go to the beach. I can run the sand thorugh my fingers and I can smell the air and listen to those pesky seagulls and I can talk to you. It will be a good walk and a good talk. I’m lucky that I get to do these things.
Each night as I have a moment with you, most often it’s the memory of my returning home from work that I reach for, when you would run along the street to meet me half-way. Looking cold and hungry, even though you could have waited inside. But you never liked to wait for things. And I think of how you would let me pick you up and hold you, purring like a monster, in return for your dinner, and maybe you were a little glad to see me, right?
I have to go. A ride-share awaits, two flights. Right now Rebecca is still working on closing, and she carries all our stress and pressure today. That’s not right. So I will do my job today of getting back to her.
And I will speak to you on Friday. I don’t mean to rush through the writing. I just have to get home, you know? By Friday we will be in our house, and I will tell you how it’s going. I will tell you about cats. But I know you know already. If you choose to. If you want.
All cats are connected. All cats are good. My spirit and soul remembers you forever.
Hamish
Difficult Second Novel 