Cat grief
I follow Cappy Bears about a cat with paresis whose momma loves him very much.
Cappy’s mom just found him crying in front of the closet where his deceased kitty sibling Lele’s stuff is stored.
The post was about not only how pets grieve, but that grief comes in waves for them, too.
Magic has started this insane nighttime ritual.
And it was only after I saw that post that I wondered whether it might be grief-related.
It never fails: Magic chases Bella to bed (who chases ME to bed) … jumps on her once she’s settled and scares the shit out of her … and when I yell at him, he goes to Mom’s doorway and yowls for a good 30 minutes.
Bell of course doesn’t enjoy the safety of him being preoccupied. She goes to investigate.
Then I hear her cry too, though more softly.
Very different from the all-day-long cries when Magic attacks or at least hovers over her before the attack.
Cappy could only be soothed when he was allowed to sniff Lele’s old cage and crawl onto Lele’s blanket.
And then it occurred to me.
Mom died in her room.
Cocoa died outside of her room.
Both at night.
So it makes absolute sense that the surviving cats gather between the two spots … at night … to look for their Grammy and their Sissy.
Maybe they are even conversing with them.
I don’t join in.
I just say, “Night-night Cocoa. Night-night Momma,” when I hear it.
That was my ritual. Night-night Cocoa. Then Momma. Then Belly. Then Magic.
In favorites order.
I still do it occasionally. More now that the cats go sing the song of their people to our beloveds beyond the veil.