“Often when we realize how precious those seconds are, it’s too late for them to be captured because the moment has passed. We realize too late.” — Cecilia Ahern
I never thought I would miss you. We met at just the right time in my life, but too late in hers. After my divorce I took up disc golf, a silly pastime for a late middle aged woman for sure, but it led me to you. I should have realized that a man whose every Facebook photo included a “Rock On!” hand gesture would not be disposed toward a long term relationship. You introduced me to “Prog Rock”, a genre of music adored by men dressed in leather kilts. Your own wardrobe choices led my son to ask “Dude, do you even own a shirt with sleeves?”
You had two cats. The younger cat was an aloof Russian Blue and Tortoiseshell mix. You named her after some Egyptian goddess with an unpronounceable name. I always felt intimidated by that cat. Precious was older, a shy solid black sweetheart that snuggled up to me at every visit. I could feel her bones shift underneath her skin as I carefully stroked her fur. She rumbled her approval while Younger hid, jealous and sly.
One time you accidentally shut Precious in the pantry, where she survived a day and a half in silence. I would have noted her absence.
We broke up in modern fashion, by text message.
“I just want to stay home with my cat”, you said, and I knew which one you meant.
I stayed friends with you on Facebook for a while, and saw when you posted that Precious had died. A short while later there was another post. You adopted a cat, a black Tortoiseshell. I understood your need but it saddened me to see her so soon replaced in your affections.
I never thought I would miss you, and I don’t. But sometimes I really miss that cat.
Let's Get Out of Here 