It’s been a little over a week since I’ve been without my cat. I’d be lying if I said I’ve been coping well, but I imagine it’s all a part of the grieving process. I never realized how much impact my cat had on my life; not just emotionally, but physically as well.
I have to keep reminding myself that I don’t have a cat anymore because I still unconsciously move around my apartment as if there were an invisible cat weaving between my feet. When I wake up, I look to see where she’s curled up so I don’t kick her when I swing my feet out of bed. I leave the bathroom door open just a tad so she doesn’t start meowing while I’m in the shower. I open cans of beans very quietly so she can’t hear (I think it’s mean to make her think I’m opening up tuna.) Every time I open a cabinet door, I expect her to run inside. When I leave the apartment, I open the door barely wide enough for me to fit though so she doesn’t sneak out. I look expectantly for her behind the door when I come home. I make sure not to throw my jacket on the bed so she doesn’t cover it with hair. When I first sit down at my desk I lean to one side to give her room to jump up on the chair. When I go to bed, I get into my sleeping position quickly because I only have about 5 seconds before she jumps up on the bed to find her spot.
Now, those five seconds pass, and then there’s nothing. It’s an incredibly lonely feeling.