It rained the other day. I always used to like the rain because Lance was so afraid of it. Whenever the lightning would flash and the thunder boom outside he would tremble in fear and when that happened he would jump into my lap and burry his face into my arm as I held him tightly to my chest and after a minute of reassuring him he would settle, he would stop trembling and I knew that he wasn't afraid anymore. I felt so important then. It's not just Lance's presence that I miss, it's everything about him. The way he sighed so contentedly when I gave him a belly rub, how he would scratch at my forelegs whenever he wanted attention in a way that would have certainly been painful if he still had his claw, as it was it was only ticklish. The way he rubbed his face so affectionately against literally anything he could. Most animals aren't very expressive but every time I ran my hand through his soft fur I swear I saw his face curl up into the biggest smile. My fondest memory of his was from I don't even know how many years ago when he was much younger and more energetic and playful. One summer's day as I was blowing soap bubbles Lance took a fascination to the shiny orbs, most likely imagining that they were some sort of prey. He spent all afternoon chasing after them and popping them as he pounce on them one by one. I giggled watching his playful antics and happily blowing more bubbles for him to chase occasionally joining him to help chase his quarry down. By the end of the day he was so tired out that he was panting just like a dog, I never knew cats could pant before then and I've never seen one do it since. It's been more than a month now since he died and I still cry almost every day just thinking about it, he still fills my every waking thought. There is no creature on the earth, cat, human, or otherwise that I wouldn't trade to have him back. I still find tufts of his fur around the house and it break my heart knowing that it's the only presence he'll have in our home anymore. In the past when I've been this depressed my thoughts would often turn to self harm, but not this time. I've resolved never to hate myself again because while Lance was alive he became a part of me, now that he's gone the only way I have left to love him is by loving myself
My brother's birthday was yesterday and the only thing he asked for was a new cat. I suppose it makes since for him to think that a new pet might replace the hole in our lives that Lance left but I wonder what Lance would think if he knew he were being replaced. And it's so soon, we still haven't decided what we should do with lance's body. We brought home a tiny, wide eyed kitten who we've named Wilson and I haven't decided yet whether I love him or hate him. What's not to love, he's adorable, affectionate, and doesn't seem to ever stop crying for attention, everything a cat should be. But he doesn't feel right, he's too small to fit into my lap just right, his fur is too short to be soft enough, but most importantly he's not Lance, nothing will ever be Lance again. There was only ever one cat for me and he's gone now. When we brought him home I watched him sniffing around and exploring his new home, a home that used to be Lance's kingdom, it broke my heart to Wilson using Lance's food dish, Lance's litter box, Lance's bed. I'm not certain I can ever love another cat that way again. What I am certain of is that one day Wilson will inevitably end as a lifeless husk just as Lance did, just as we all will and if I care for Wilson then as much as I care for Lance now then I'll just feel this miserable depression once again and I don't know if I can handle it. Although looking back on Lance's life, even knowing how terrible his death would be to face, I wouldn't have traded a single second spent with that kitten to stop that misery. Maybe, if I'm lucky, when Wilson's time comes I'll feel the same way about him.