I've been feeling surprisingly bad about Lot's death.
"Surprising? It's not surprising - she was an important part of your life for 13 years, a member of your family", my friends tell me.
They're right - I know they're right and yet I'm still surprised. After all, she was plainly old, she'd almost died in January, the end was inevitable, I've been through dog-death not long ago...
Yet I've been going through some kind of emotional torment about losing her and despite many wonderful conversations, reminiscences and thinking spells, I can't quite figure out what it's about. Maybe it comes down to grief, pure and simple. I've lost someone I loved, someone who delighted me. It's the end of a particular era in my life, the era in which co-p and I learnt how to be parents together (to Lot, our "firstborn" wild child, then to our boy who's never known what it is to live without her); the era in which we established strong ties in our neighbourhood and community through walking with our dog (so much walking in the early years!); the era in which so many friends and family shared in our domestic adventures with her, although I'm sure not everyone we know was enamoured of her to the same extent we were. (Though I'd hate to paint a picture of us as indulgent pet-obsessives - not at all. The great thing about Lot was how butch she was, how active in the great outdoors and how catlike at home.)
I have a lot to say but domestic life calls... Here are two photos to be going on with. The first is from 2002
; the second is from one week ago (and the same cat was on the bed too but didn't make it into this photo.)
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