Today is Kira’s birthday but I’m the only one home today so we aren’t celebrating until Friday. This is a heavily anticipated day for her and we want her at four to learn a birthday is one day not many celebrations. So we aren’t going to tell her it is her birthday until Friday. And there’s no guilt with that decision either. We parent on the premise that the child fits into the family, not that the family revolves around the child. On Friday we will party all day long.
As I grieved last week I know I mentioned I handle my pain with “furr therapy”. Well, last week was somewhat of tragedy in my heart that required desperate lengths. I also found out on Tuesday that my favorite little kitten Fritz has an incurable disease (not contagious) and he is dying. He is so sick and it is terrible for me to lose the kitty that purrs into my soul. I always wanted a kitty that looked into my eyes and knew my thoughts. I hoped for a kitty who would be most comfortable in all his world asleep in my lap or next to me on my pillow. This is Fritz. He is like a puppy cat and he’s slipping out of my life one purr at a time.
Desperate times, desperate measures. I needed life in our house and pronto. I found two more ragdoll boy kittens ready to go home (I think the last two in America) and they flew on Friday from Washington DC to San Antonio. Craig’s only question for me was, “did they fly first class?” Yes. With fancy feast on porcelain and water in a crystal goblet. He knew I was a woman on the edge and his sweet soft spot for me gave me plenty of margin to act impulsively. A million thank yous.
We introduced them to our new home on Friday and yes two balls of playful furr is good for the grieving heart. They are a little more fearful than our other kittens were with Kira and this disappointed her. Sunday morning Kira looked at me with a despondent face and said, “the kittens don’t like me because I am black.”
My world stopped.
Who told her that there was something wrong with being black?
Let me unleash my mama bear on that one.
She rubbed her arms and said see, I’m black, and she said it in a way that she believed it was a fault.
Her innocence is over.
It has begun.
Happy Birthday. Sigh.
Maybe we’ll sign up for karate lessons along with pony riding lessons.
All I could say is, “they will like you more because you are dark chocolate and they will lick you and hope you taste sweet as you look, give them time to find your sweetness.”
A glimmer of sparkle flecked her eye. She likes a good game of pretend.
As I write in my office they are knocking frames off my shelves, batting the cords on the window blinds, extracting files from neat piles, mewing for help when they get too high, and poking their cute little heads from impossibly small spaces. And I am smiling. In my story grief is best stroked alongside the silky coat of an affectionate animal whether that be dog, horse, cat but hopefully all of the above.