My mother brought Lucia home from the Super 1 food market on the other side of town. She was the last of a litter a little girl was giving away and my mother was quizzed and given a lot of detailed instruction about kitten care. I think the turning point of my mother being givien the kitten was when she explained that she was going to give it to her little girl (never mind that I was 16 then). She was put in, of all things, a big paper bag from the store and drovin home, brave thing, in a red convertible MG.
Up in my room, I paid no attention to my mom returning. She brought the bag upstairs and said she'd gotten me something and when I opened it I found a tiny pouf of grey and white with green eyes and pink nose and pads that fit in my hand with lots of space. Chichi always had wee ears and was one of the few kittens in my life I didn't need to lock out of my room at night.
We got off smashingly from the beginning. It was the beginning of school and I remember worrying that she'd bond to my mother, but while they were close, I was always Lucia's person. I trained her to come to me at night when she was outside by trilling and tapping my nails on a saucer of milk. Even this past summer, whenever I sat down to have my tea, if she was near she'd look around for her saucer - tea for me, cream for her was a ritual we enacted in many homes. It went over much better than my reading Beatrix Potter to her. She wasn't a fan. Not even of Miss Moppet.
The first time she ever hissed it was in response to my spraying perfume. She was still really tiny and I laughed at the very loud, vicious sound and the giant leap and turn she did along with it. Most of her life she spent smelling of Dior's Dolce Vita, even after it was no longer my daily fragrance.
I called her meecha because it was kitten in Italian and I named her after Lucy Honeychurch in A Room With A View.
She was a great hunter and in Mill Creek and Ellensburg even killed bunnies. I'd trained her in Lake City to drop them outside before coming in but she was really happy to bring them right to me in bed in Ellensburg. And if she wasn't fed her wet food when she was hungry she'd just go out and get some warm live food of her own.
My woolly sweaters were some of her favourite blankets and anytime I was leaving I would put one out for her. When I drove off this last time I fed her wet food, packed the car, and then went back to find her on the bed and I tucked my NZ alpaca sweater around her. She never pulled them apart with her great piano playing, but she wasn't so careful with my skin!
And she was a catnip freak. Loved the stuff.
I couldn't practice at all yesterday. Just laid on my mat and cried. It comes and goes, but I do know I didn't cry in public like this when I left my marriage. The pain of this is distinct. There is no confusion of what is happening or why, just primal grief in the face of Nature's workings. Thank you to everyone who's called or texted or written - it does help. I know you are all glad that I'm surrounded by friends here at the training who are holding space for me, but it is nice to know that other people who knew my cat and saw our relationship are also sad for her and I both.
Note to all - today is All Saint's Day.