Some days, existing is plenty

Some days, existing is plenty.

Luckily I could switch to work from home and have a sort of hollowed out existence today.  Sorry my engagement with Blip is a little surface level today while I mourn the loss of my constant companion.  You feel it shouldn't hit you this hard, but 9 years of a constant presence is longer than any of my human partnerships have lasted, so maybe it shouldn't be such a surprise.  He's lived in 2 houses with me, seen me through divorce, meeting someone new, remarriage... he was the promise to The Bo for uprooting and moving across the country and schools when he was 6 - yes we will uproot you from your friends but you can have a much longed-for cat...  A constant presence in life's ups and downs, patiently figuring out the new rules as this house has been renovated over 5 years, the garden beds dug which gave him warm sleepers to snooze on in the summer months, and tolerating those weird humans are doing that thing again with putting the tree in various places in the lounge in December.

He did so well to keep going so long, he was at least 5 when we had him from cat rescue so at 14 / 15 we can't complain.  But I have been all day a new kind of lonely, waiting for the begging face to peer up at me as I eat anything off a plate, waiting for the ankle rub to let me know he's there while I sit and type, or sit next to me on the chair curled up having a snooze during the working day.  The conservatory is a weird shell of a room - it was always his space, everything covered in blankets to try and keep a semblance of protection from his fur.  It never worked, it is everywhere, and over everything, and will be for months to come.  A jigsaw started last night and left uncovered on the jigsaw board on the floor haunts me guiltily - this was not possible before, the softness of the jigsaw board being too much to resist and the inevitable wrecking of anything that was left out meant it was always put away.

I take a lunch break and finish the book I am reading for book club, of course it has a death at the end and I am in no place for literary grief. My mind wanders to how often I would go outside to read  - or go outside to do anything - hang washing, garden, drink a cup of tea - and he would always come out to join in, wanting just to be near a human who might indulge him in a chin scratch.

I miss him so much and some days, existing is plenty.