Rachmaninoff (Summer 2005)Some of us who always wanted children but were not lucky enough to have them sometimes get lucky in other ways. When my Maine Coon cat kitten Rachmaninoff came along he turned out to be very much like the little boy I always wanted. He liked to stay out all day and play, he had a habit of bringing snakes and frogs and toads into the house, and he loved to get muddy. He came into my life and filled an empty place, and then he filled it to overflowing.
I have been fortunate to share my life with many animals, but the bond I had with this particular cat was incredibly strong from the very beginning. It was as though we had known each other in a past life.
Some people cannot possibly understand that a person can feel this way about a cat, or a dog, or any animal for that matter. However, I have since discovered that many others can and do.
Rock’s life force was ebbing around this time last year and I knew it. My little boy had become a tired and sick old man, and I had grown to love him even more.
Now I try to remember him as healthy and happy. He was so sweet natured and dog-like (the bowl in the photo was his preferred dinner bowl), and he was my faithful writing companion. Though I have two sister cats now, the chair where he sat while I wrote remains empty.
It has been nearly ten months since Rock died and, though I have tried several times, I still cannot bring myself to remove his collar from beneath my pillow. I miss him so much.
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