Demon Cat

Neelix

Seven

Time Heals

Time passes. It's been nearly eight months since Merly died and two months since Callie died, and I no longer flinch when I look at the side of our bed, where Merly chose to camp in her final days, or at the pink papasan chair in my office, which was once Callie's exclusive roost. Neelix is sleeping in the chair right now, all rolled up inside the tunnel bed. Merly is a long ago and fading memory. Her bones rest in the cold woods in a neighboring county. When we drive past those woods on the way to my mother-in-law's, I think of her then and call out that I am near. Poor Callie, I will probably have no occasion to ever visit her resting place at an aunt's home in yet another county. I bought a painting of a calico cat on eBay which has facial colorings very similar to Callie's, so I hope her soul rests there instead of in those distant woods.

Immortality Through Cat Hoarding

Last night, as I was in the bed with one of the cats on my chest, I said my usual prayer for a long life so I could survive to take care of all the people and things that needed me: my husband, my son, my seven cats.

Then I had an epiphany about why animal hoarders keep so many pets. It's a form of immortality for us. As long as something needs you, then nothing can happen to us. The more cats, the more we are needed, even if we have long ago passed the ability to take care of those animals in any meaningful way. You still have the sense of a large population depending on you.

It makes sense, since so many hoarders are single, older women who may not be able to define their purpose in life in any other way.