I was a little mortified when I looked through five years' worth of photographs and found out that this meager collection of pictures is the only hard evidence that Strider ever existed.
It was particularly difficult to come to terms with his loss. Between finals season and my roommates' graduation ceremonies, I hadn't been home in nearly a month, and he'd died the morning that I was supposed to return. I'd been looking forward to seeing him after three weeks of studying and exams--and instead I ended up going to the vet's office, viewing the body, and taking his collar home with me. That collar is currently buried deep inside one of my drawers, so that the bell won't ring when I have to open it.
I spent the first five days crying. It would blindside me: I'd see his claw marks on the screen door, or I'd see our staircase and remember how he used to play on them, and next thing I knew I'd be in tears. Sometimes it wouldn't take anything at all: just the realization that he wasn't going to be here anymore, that I could've been a better caretaker, and that all the events that surrounded his death were as murky and suspicious as the death itself.
But all I can do now is smile whenever I think about Strider's little quirks, and try my hardest to remember what it sounded like when he purred in contentment or meowed for no reason, or what it felt like when he cuddled against my shins and stood on his hind legs to nuzzle my palm. Celebrate his life. Remember the good times.
I'm not crying anymore. Progress.
Since that day, I've been trying to keep myself distracted, probably at the expense of . . . well, everyone else. I spent all my free time crafting things for a wedding, attending said wedding, or spending the day at cafes and bookstores, brooding over particularly foul cups of coffee. I'd go anywhere, as long as it meant I wouldn't have to stay in the house and wallow in that void you can't see, but can feel.
But there's always that little caveat: no matter how far you drive, eventually you'll have to come home, and the funny little friend who used to greet you at your car will no longer be able to walk you to the door.
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