every couple weeks or so, I find myself reading through the postings of a blog community, Note_to_Cat, on livejournal.  Many of the stories are amusing; some actually make me laugh (how sad is it that most of my actual outright laughter comes from reading about cat-antics?).

Tonight, seeing someone’s user-pic of them holding a rather disgruntled-looking (yet endearing) longhair stirred up a strange anxiety in me.

Too often the last few months, I’ve batted around the serious contemplation of what my life would look like to get a cat. And I’ve pretty much come to the conclusion that if I ever (when I) live alone again, I will almost definitely be taking on a feline companion as a roommate.

But the thing is….much as I’ve interacted with other peoples’ cats–Scooter and Tommy at Grandma K.’s back in the day; or Katie’s parents’ cats, or Wally or Kathy/Jerusha/Meredith’s cat, or Mike & Neiva’s Penelope…

Much as I’ve interacted with these other cats, they’re always that: someone else’s cat. They’re *A* cat, but they’re not MY cat.

They’re not Kayla…they’re not Christy.

In the 13 1/2 years we had Christy…in the 17 years we’ve had Kayla…the cats are unique litte creatures with DISTINCT personalities and manners and all that.

13 1/2 years, Kayla & Christy.

So picturing outright caring for and interacting daily with any other cat is rather strange in its own way. And even though there are NO imminent adoption plans on my part…it’s still something that gets thought about.

But the anxiety comes in as–and obviously it’s been quite common–I try to prepare myself for losing Kayla.  I don’t have any information that tells me exactly how long we have left with her–I’m not sure if I’d want that advance knowledge ornot, even. But after the shock of losing Christy six months ago, it’s just become an unfortunate reality that has settled into me more than it ever did before, this fact of knowing that one day far too soon, my cat will be gone.


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