Love is a choice
Fri 15 November 2024
I was going to go in a different direction for tonight's blog post (thanks to the help of some kind fedifriends), but while starting on that post, I felt like I needed to revive a blog post idea from a few weeks ago first.
A month and four days ago, I adopted a cat (or rather, a sweet kitty adopted me.)
It was one year to the day (almost to the minute) that my sweet floofson Hobbes passed away.
The decision to adopt was a rather belabored one, as I elaborated on previously. Aside from the question of when to adopt, which animal to adopt, etc., the question of "how will I know that this is the right animal for me?" was hanging over my head.
Any cat I would get would have some really oversized shoes to fill. My cat Hobbes was way more than just my pet. He was my companion, my son. He came when I called or whistled, he accosted me with affection every time I came home. There was just so much going on behind his pearly green eyes. How could any other animal live up to that?
So, I visited the cat I ended up adopting (who I named "Mira" after the actress Mira Furlan) about three times in the shelter before finally adopting her. I was waiting for... something. Some kind of sign? Nothing. Just a nice cat. I could have adopted her or just as easily left her there. I really didn't feel anything, and even when I took a family member with me, there was no obvious encouragement or "Yes, this is the one."
I perceived that "still small voice" giving me the nudge forward, but it was a very gentle nudge. It could have gone either way.
So, what happened?
After the initial newness and excitement of bringing her home, two or three days into the adoption, I just had to make up my mind once and for all. I took my new floofdaughter in my arms, looked straight into her eyes, and said, "I love you, no matter what. Forever."
That was it. From that point on, anything that could make me feel disappointment or frustration towards her had no voice in my life. No comparison to Hobbes was permitted, other than warm/postitive ones (reminiscing on similarities). My heart was invested, and I would see whatever issues arose through.
Just moments ago, I brought out one of the last artifacts of Hobbes' that I had kept hidden in the closet: his old bed (which he honestly nearly never used, but which I used to carry him during the last day of his life), and his favorite chew toy. I put both items next to me in my study, hoping she would use the bed (which of course she hasn't, yet), and knowing that she would enjoy the toy.
She hasn't put the toy down for a moment since. 😸
Category: Life Tagged: Beauty Life Loss Non-religious post Non-technical post WritingMonth