Two cats sleeping

Two People & Two Cats?

Wilson is gone.

That’s a hard thing to say.

I miss that little cat.

She was so good.

Such a good cat.

She was the reason why this blog is called Two People & a Cat, even though she wasn’t mentioned as much as you would expect a headliner to be. Now it would be more accurate to call it Two People & Two Cats.

Sometime in July, Brian started to look into getting another cat. I couldn’t quite picture it. So, it’s a bit strange to have two of them in the house. Two kittens. Wild animals… in the house. Here the brothers are joining Brian’s work meeting.

Brian is wrapped in an afghan because it is cold! It probably doesn’t help that we are missing an exterior door right now. It’s in the garage where I am going to paint it. It was so cold that last night I made a fire, not knowing how much supervising of cats would be necessary. They seemed to respect it. Michael parked in front of it for a good portion of the night.

Bert, on the other hand, preferred to stay warm by snuggling on Brian’s chest while he watched television.

Here he is with his eyes open. He just woke up from a nap.

When Wilson first died, I couldn’t get over how empty my arms felt. I must have hugged that little girl a lot. Indeed, I couldn’t walk by her without saying hello. And she did so in return. We were often finding each other throughout the day. I could always count on her to tell me to get up from my desk and stretch. For a while after she died, I couldn’t get to sleep without hugging a blanket. Actually, it wasn’t a blanket. It was one of my night shirts that I would squish up and put by her for comfort when she wasn’t feeling well. I probably didn’t wash that thing for a month and when I finally did, it was an accident.

Now my arms aren’t so empty. Both of these sweet peas can snuggle. They don’t mind being held, though like any cat they will let you know when they want down. Wiggle! Wiggle! They are quick to purr. They are super soft, especially Bert.

I still miss Wilson.

Talking to people who have also lost pets, I realize that one can be plagued with this question. Did she know that I loved her? Brian has no doubt about this. I probably don’t either. But once her heart stopped beating, I wanted another chance to make sure. I would have liked to have gone with her, wherever she went. I didn’t want her to be alone.

Michael and Bert are not allowed in our bedroom or office because they – meaning Bert – cannot resist climbing the curtains, which are new. Because they have doors, these rooms have become staging areas for furniture and plants that we are trying to save from being shredded. In theory, these cats will settle down as they get a little bit older. But for now, it is a treat to get inside these forbidden rooms (or a conquest depending on whether they politely asked to come in or barged in, taking their post underneath the bed). I’ll be on my way to do something – anything – taking a load of laundry to the basement and Michael will breach the bedroom door. Now instead of doing the thing I was doing, I’m waiting for Michael to come within reach so I can put him out. He purrs the entire time.

Again, another cat telling me to chill.

I have stuff to do, cat! Winter is coming and we still don’t have a door!

Any chance you can play?

The sound of bedroom doors constantly (it seems) opening and closing is new in our house.





The routines are different. Habits. Preferences. Wilson spent almost no time in the kitchen, which she treated as a pass through. As I said, she was so good. These guys? They treat it like a lounge.

But my arms aren’t so empty anymore.

They are good players. With us. With each other. All by themselves. Michael loves to play with toy mice, especially if you put one on the end of a fishing pole (out of service at the moment as some untangling is needed). Bert is more of a string man. He focuses on the string instead of the mouse and he can entertain himself with a hair thing for a long time. He is also the one who discovered “the sheet”, which they both enjoy. I was putting away some fabric scraps and he saw me folding this red sheet. Somehow he let me know that he wanted it. He sat on it and I started to pull him around. He went nuts running up it and diving into the hammock end of it where I was holding two corners (somewhat scary actually). After scoping it out for quite a while, Michael jumped on board. Now they will sit on the sheet and look at me.

At one point in the middle of our grief, Brian brought out Wilson’s adoption papers. Has she been exposed to other animals? Yes. Cats and Dogs. Children? Yes. What is her favorite toy? Unknown. She was estimated to be a year and a half at the time.

Can I have a ride, please?

So I put down whatever it was that I was doing and give Bert a ride on the sheet. Michael will show up in another minute or so. This will eventually devolve into wrestling with each cat on the opposite side of a sheet wall and me worried that someone is going to get hurt.

We are still getting to know these guys (Brian calls them “the boys”) and they are getting to know us.

I hope that they find us and these accommodations to their liking.

Wilson had a lot of favorite toys, including the mouse on the fishing pole that Michael now loves so much. When we were back at the duplex in Powderhorn Park, I used to use it to lure her out of the linen closet where she used to sit on towels while I washed my face and brushed my teeth to get ready for bed. The green feather. Toilet paper grabbed from underneath the bathroom door. It was apparently endless. Foam balls that Brian would bounce against the basement stairs. Being rolled around in the purniture. Feet under sheets. Anything dangling down in front of the cubby hole where she lay in wait. The rake / back scratcher. The gorillia / puppet / back scratcher. A bottle cap / back scratcher.

There were other things that I am forgetting.

I do not want to forget.

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