Surprises
I guess it is one of those wonders in life that after two decades of living with my best friend, he still has the capacity to surprise me. There are occasional moments of sudden awareness that make me step outside the mundane familiarity and see once again those qualities that drew me to him in the first place.
Several months ago, when I first brought Toby-John and Sunspot home from the Shelter, one of his off-hand remarks stunned me. Toby-John was meowing at the door in a futile attempt to persuade us to let him outside. Without any thought, Denny remarked how much TJ sounded like Sparky...
God. Sparky has been dead over four years. I have wrapped my grief up and held it close to my heart and carried on. There is one Christmas song that conjures his memory to eye-dampening keenness but this is a pain I thought I was carrying alone. That Denny could, and does, recall so clearly to this day what Sparky's voice sounded like floored me. And forcefully reminded me that I wasn't the only one who mourned our little lost kitty-boy. I was carrying my sadness alone. And he was carrying his sadness alone. Together, the sadness is not so heavy.
In the shop last week, while he was petting Demi, our white calico, he murmurred to her, "You little China doll..." What was weird was that I knew exactly what he meant. I have called her that myself, a secret name I was sure no one else would understand. Demi is a solidly-built American shorthair with nothing remotely oriental in her appearance. But her markings--specifically the black against the pure white of her fur--starts the mind thinking down pathways of white porcelain and black enamel, of geisha make-up... I know I have never used that description of Demi to Dennis--it seemed so fanciful. Do our minds really think so much alike that we seperately come up with the same nicknames for our cats?
That's a bit scary.
But it is nice to know that Denny still has the power to surprise and charm me.
Several months ago, when I first brought Toby-John and Sunspot home from the Shelter, one of his off-hand remarks stunned me. Toby-John was meowing at the door in a futile attempt to persuade us to let him outside. Without any thought, Denny remarked how much TJ sounded like Sparky...
God. Sparky has been dead over four years. I have wrapped my grief up and held it close to my heart and carried on. There is one Christmas song that conjures his memory to eye-dampening keenness but this is a pain I thought I was carrying alone. That Denny could, and does, recall so clearly to this day what Sparky's voice sounded like floored me. And forcefully reminded me that I wasn't the only one who mourned our little lost kitty-boy. I was carrying my sadness alone. And he was carrying his sadness alone. Together, the sadness is not so heavy.
In the shop last week, while he was petting Demi, our white calico, he murmurred to her, "You little China doll..." What was weird was that I knew exactly what he meant. I have called her that myself, a secret name I was sure no one else would understand. Demi is a solidly-built American shorthair with nothing remotely oriental in her appearance. But her markings--specifically the black against the pure white of her fur--starts the mind thinking down pathways of white porcelain and black enamel, of geisha make-up... I know I have never used that description of Demi to Dennis--it seemed so fanciful. Do our minds really think so much alike that we seperately come up with the same nicknames for our cats?
That's a bit scary.
But it is nice to know that Denny still has the power to surprise and charm me.
