I have been feeling low the past few days. I haven’t felt up to my usual standards of reasonable health, etc., but I didn’t really know why. Until today. It occurred to me a few hours ago that today is the one year anniversary since I had to say goodbye to my most precious friend and pet, Basil.
I confess. He was my favourite. Hands down, no question about it. Basil and I were close. He was my little boy and I was his father. While this is true of all the cats over the years (the father and child relationship), the one I shared with Basil was different. More intense. More direct. More of everything. And while he certainly lived a long and healthy life (he was 19 when it was time to say goodbye) I wasn’t really as prepared for his loss. At least not like I thought I was.
I am rather pragmatic about the whole mess. Death is part of life. There is no escaping this portion of the life cycle. I thought I had made peace with this knowledge and my relationship with Basil. But this isn’t really the case. I’ve pushed his loss so far out of my memory. I refuse to think about it. I sometimes refuse to think about him. Hell, I couldn’t figure out why it was that I no longer wished much to sit in my leather recliner in the t.v. room. Until today. Until today when I was looking over some pictures of him and I, sitting together in our chair.
I haven’t had this reaction with the other cats who have gone before him. They too were special, but they weren’t Basil. I miss the shit out of that little furry fellow.