I still talk to him constantly, and Ive taken to holding his rabies tag on a bracelet, like a rosary, even in public, and Im sure people think Im just not all there or just super-religious because I even kiss it in public. Im still in shock and cant look at his photos without bursting into tears. Today, I started rewatching Walking Dead, which I started during his decline, a fact that will creep into the piece I eventually write about him. This photo is from one of his favourite places, the porch in our old apartment, as he waited patiently for Ryan Conrad to visit. Frieda is a huge comfort, and Im careful to love and respect her for who she is, her own (slightly too tubby; we are working on that) independent and very lively self, with a mind of her own. I thought Id just watch Walking Dead upstairs and fall asleep on the couch, but she actually came up to meow loudly and insist that I needed to come down with her, NOW. So I said, fine, let me just go to the loo before bed. But while I was um, engaged, and the door was slightly ajar, she FLUNG her whole weight against the door and walked right in, meowing loudly, demanding to know why I wasnt with her yet. We walked downstairs together, Frieda giving me what sounded like a And, missy, we have to talk about these late nights of yours lecture, meowing all the while, as we descended the stairs. I was chatting with a friend online for a bit, and she made her presence known by walking on the keyboard (and, of course, hitting enter) and at one point, a first even for her affectionate self, licking my nose. I dont know what the point is. I will never get over his death, and I miss him badly, deeply, and I either feel his presence all the time or am willing it into being, I dont know. Being an atheist confronting death is terribly hard, is all I can say for now. But then there is this other furry being, who is so happy to be with me and now tails me wherever I go, loving my company, it seems, and wanting me around -- even when all her bowls are perfectly full. Death and love. I dont know anymore. I tell myself that Tobys death has somehow prepared me, steeled me for Friedas -- like a true Malayali, I am already foretelling tragedy and doom when I should simply accept these blissful days with her as they come and love her sweet loving face. She has a habit of showing up where I might be and just staring at me, silently, as in the second picture, which is the classic cats with spectral eyes photo, of course. I like to think its love, but then who knows what that is? But I do love her, and I love him, and miss him terribly. And Frieda gives me the Youre so weird, dont you know hes dead? look every time I talk to his photos. Its also the, Dude, seriously, he is DEAD look. Toby would have loved that.
Posted on: Sat, 18 Oct 2014 05:49:55 +0000
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