Things I learned about moving on from my mother's cat

I didn't want another cat, I really didn't, and certainly not my mother's finicky cat, Daisy. Nonetheless, when push came to shove, I couldn't bring myself to take Daisy to the cat rescue center after Mom died. Daisy made my dad smile eight years ago, just before he slipped into a coma. And Daisy was my mother's chief companion until Mom died in early April. So here she is, taking a nice nap on my bed.

Daisy and I are making the best of things as we learn how to navigate these first months since Mom died. She's even offered some good examples.

Daisy has her cat tree and her own room (temporarily) at my house, but she spent the first week refusing to eat or groom in what looked remarkably like sitting shiva. Then she decided it was time to take up the job of moving on, came out from under the bed, and started to embrace the new normal.

There is some real benefit in shutting down for awhile after someone dies, and I wish I'd followed the feline example. Instead, almost the day after Mom died of sudden cardiac arrest, I spent two weeks in a frenzied whirl preparing her house to accommodate out-of-state relatives, making arrangements, visiting the lawyer, and planning Mom's Unitarian memorial service and reception back at the house. I (stupidly) thought keeping busy would keep the grief of Mom's last day at bay.

Instead, by the day of the memorial, I was dazed, exhausted, and edgy. The reception was dominated by my dad's half sister and her adult children who, unbeknownst to me, started moving things from "their" side of the family out to their cars. My ditzy sister-in-law told them to take it. I made them put some things back, but a lot of stuff is gone for good.

I'm still fuming about their bad manners. Daisy,  on the other hand, didn't care about the Noritake china or the sewing rocker or the doo dads. She cared about Mom and their little daily rituals of  enjoying the garden, sunning on the porch, napping with a book, and watching CNN. Those daily intimacies are what make a life, not the "stuff."

Daisy has let me know that she's willing to work with me on new routines. She has become more cuddly. She has learned to eat dry food. She has quit hissing at the other cats when they put their paws under "her" door. Maybe, eventually, I will stop hissing over my sister-in-law and aunt for taking stuff I really didn't want in the first place.

What I want to remember about my parents was their kindness and their love for the natural world. Daisy, rescued from some neighbors who abandoned her, was the last burden  they asked me to pick up for them.

She is also their last gift.