It's been a little over a month since Sherry's death, and I wanted to give an update on one of the individuals hit hardest by her passing: her cat Baby. I'm not being facetious, or cute. Barb, the girls, and I all knew that Mom was dying. It happened faster than we expected, but it wasn't unexpected. We had time beforehand to prepare for the inevitability of the end that will come for us all.
I don't think Baby was prepared.
Baby was loyal to Sherry in a way that I've never seen in a cat, and I grew up with cats. He was dog-like in his devotion (no insult intended, Baby). When Mom would leave the property, he would follow her out to the car. When she returned from her appointment, he'd be waiting. He would vocalize his displeasure with her absence (or pleasure with her return?) the whole time she walked or rolled from the car back to her cottage. He slept with her every night. He shared meals with her (gross to some, lovely to Mom and Baby).
He always slept with her, often burrowing under the blankets and sleeping completely covered -- another thing I've never seen a cat do. When Grandma was dying, he was always by her side, or lying on her. After she passed, Baby slept on her body the whole night. When the funeral home attendants wheeled her to their van, Baby followed her out as usual, watching as she was driven away. I don't know if he expected her return.
He continued to live in the cottage for a while. Eventually, we removed the cat door from Grandma's cottage and installed it in our back door. We started feeding the cats in our mud room, and then transitioned them to our kitchen. After a surprisingly short while, Baby started sleeping with us in our bed.
He continued to live in the cottage for a while. Eventually, we removed the cat door from Grandma's cottage and installed it in our back door. We started feeding the cats in our mud room, and then transitioned them to our kitchen. After a surprisingly short while, Baby started sleeping with us in our bed.
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