Mama

I was planning to re-start the blog this weekend, but I’m doing it today in honor of a wonderful little cat that was a part of my life for ten years, and a part of Margo’s for five. Yes, that would be the one, the only, Mama. 

If you had told me at any point while I had Mama that my combined crying fits over the last few weeks would rival this, I would have said you were crazy. “I love, Mama, but come on. She’s a cat.” I had completely underestimated the many corners of my life she had crept into. The same is true for Margo, who's much tougher than I am, but shed as many tears along the way. Mama wasn’t just a cat, she was a one-of-a-kind character whose quirks didn’t merely endear her to you, but drew you closer.

For instance, I already miss her not greeting me when I walk in the door after work. Invariably, she’d follow that with flopping on the floor, exposing her belly for a quick rub as she stretched out. Last night I kept waiting for her to walk in the bedroom, walk over to the far side of the bed, jump up, take a few moment to pause on top of Margo while kneading her pajama top, before proceeding on to my chest, blocking the book I was reading, and putting her butt in my face until I turned around. It was a ritual going back more than four years, starting not long after Margo and I moved in together in North Cambridge. Even when we moved to Roslindale, she would take the long way round, even though Margo’s side of the bed was furthest from the door.

And she was the Queen of Head Butts. The head butts are at the top of the list of things I’ll miss about Mama.

Below is a little totem I put together. This weekend I'll write a little more about its purpose beyond remembering Mama.