The Ghost Cats

My roommate blogged about how it had been a year since we lost our Rowancat. I felt really horrible when I read it because I didn't remember it was a year today. It slipped my mind, just like how I can't remember the exact date the other cats died either, or the date my mother died, or the date my grandmother died. Or anyone, for that matter.

It isn't like I don't think about them. I most certainly do. In fact, I've been dreaming about my grandmother a lot. I'm bad with dates, though. They don't stick in my mind.

One of the ways my roommate and I have processed the loss of the cats is to talk about them (and all the other cats we've lost) as The Ghost Cats. We don't really see ghosts of them, we just pretend we do. We come up with stories about what the ghost cats are thinking, things they would say. We discuss how they feel about the new cat Millie and how they continue to roll their eyes at the most unsociable Tinkerbelle.

We never discussed that we would begin to talk about The Ghost Cats. One day it just started. It's helped to ease the loss. It helps to fill the house. We're not just two people with a pissed off old cat and a goofus kitten. We're two people with a wide array of ghostly cats that lounge about the house making commentary in all the goings on . . . plus a pissed off old cat and a goofus kitten.