The sky is ominous.
A plane shrouded in clouds, hurtles toward home.
The trees are restless, still, then build into confused agitation.
Rumbles of thunder mumble in the distance.
The birds are combing the air scooping up bugs until giant plops of rain fall from the dim sky. The tree frogs are trilling, oblivious to the approaching storm.
All else is hesitant. Tense.
And then it’s here.
Torrential rain, deafening thunder.
The temperature plummets; I open the windows to let in the rain.
Cappuccino, our Himalayan cat, passed away today. He was 18 years old.
He had lost his sparkle in the past year and spent most of his days asleep and most of his nights watching me sleep. Whenever I awoke in the night and looked for him, there he was at my feet, looking back at me.
He was a one woman cat. He only had eyes for me. His life would have been better if I was an old lady, because he wanted to be held, cuddled and carried as long as I was willing.
But I am a fast moving target and though he’d awake to my comings and goings, at night he abided with me as I slept.
This morning as I made our bed, I was reminded what a rascal he was.
He loved to jump on the bed as I smoothed the covers and like a giant bedbug, run around under the blanket pouncing on imaginary creatures.
I am exacting about bed making, so depending on my mood, I would find him hysterically funny or utterly maddening.
One of the funniest memories I have was when he was a kitten.
I was taking a bubble bath and he was walking around the rim of the tub, very curious about the soft peaks of soap bubbles.
I was reading a book, when lo and behold ,he leapt into the tub and out again in one miserably indelicate movement.
I caught a glimpse as he disappeared around the corner, drenched and humiliated.
He never trusted bathrooms for the rest of his life.
Its cool now and the rumbling has grown faint.
The storm has passed.
I guess my heavy heart will heal and Cappy’s memory will grow faint.
But for now, I mourn his loss and pray that God has a heart for our beloved pets.