Cats are very different than dogs. They accept you and stay, or they leave. Bijoux stayed for as long as he could and then he left last week. It was not until death that I could pick him up and hold him close; he detested leaving the ground. But that short moment when I was able to hold his huge body close to mine I felt sad that I hadn't been able to hold him close sooner. He was as soft as a rabbit. A rabbit that weighed a light tonne. Holding him limp he contoured to my body and he still generated warmth. I was eager to catch his spirit, bid him goodbye, thank him for his time before he left the room for a higher place. There really is a 'light in our eyes' and when death comes that light goes out. Nothing can revive it. When you look into it, it says: I am gone. I am gone as you knew me. I am finished. It is a look that the living can do nothing to stop. We are forced, with each death, to accept it and continue living, just like the dead did before death. Only minutes...
mostly gentle, sometimes turbulent