So, there was saying goodbye to the dining room table, already amply documented here. Then in the same weekend, we sold that damn Tempur-Pedic mattress I never should have spent so much money on, to a nice couple who drove all the way down from Appleton. We made them really happy - they have two kids, said they were both laid off, that "this is really all we can pay, sorry," and how the husband needs it for his bad back.
I was glad to help them and make a little money back, in the process. But selling the mattress meant we could sell the bedroom set (headboard, bed-stand and bureau). That was hard, cuz we're talking Amish-made heirloom-quality furniture we didn't even have that long, which we thought we'd keep to our deaths, the one thing we considered putting into storage, till we decided we want to be free even more than we want to hang onto it. Yes, there's also a photo of me hugging the headboard with tears in my eyes, but I'll spare my loyal readers from seeing that.
And this coming weekend I will let go of Colby, my little orange tabby cat, that we are giving to my meditation teacher, Kathie. I am so happy to have found him such a good home. I love that she not only does meditation classes but also psychotherapy, and so my husband and I have this half-joking/half-serious hope that she will be so soothing and therapeutic to be around that she will help him overcome what we figure is his PTSD (Post-Traumatic-Stress-Disorder, see hyperlink below) from living on the streets. He was a rescue cat and has a story to tell from that but doesn't have language, only speaks with his strange little meeps and hiding under our bed (before we sold it), or in closets when strangers come to the house.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/PTSD
I know that everyone who loves her cat probably sez this, but I honestly think he is the sweetest feline I have ever met. He looks up at us with these big eyes, as if we have all the answers and he's only waiting to be told them. I have loved how he always heads to the bathroom, to make a bed of the rug, and is there anytime we go to the toilet, head-butting us to prompt our affection. I often felt guilty when home from work and too tired to engage his still-kittenish play. I can't even say for certain that I've played with him more since we've been here during the work day (and I'm neglecting him right now to write this post), but I have been trying to pay him more attention, as our time together comes to an end.
I emailed his expectant new owner, when she asked after him: "Colby is great! He's right here next to me as I write this...I am enjoying him all the more, knowing how soon we will give him up. But I'm so glad to have found such a good home, and I really think you are going to love him, he's got such a great personality. I call him the 'cat-love-of-my-life' which is saying a lot, since I had a pretty terrific cat from the age of 7 to 14."
That cat, the one that no other could live up to (until Colby), was called Tiger. I got him at 7 yrs old because someone up the street had kittens - I carried him home in my arms and begged my Dad until he let me keep him. Later it was a toss-up which one of us loved that cat more. As the first domestic pet to enter my childhood home, we had no idea what to do with him and fed him milk (my father's old-fashioned idea of what a cat would eat), until he got the runs and we figured out he needed kitty-chow instead.
Tiger (unlike Colby) was an outdoor cat, and would sun himself in the alley with no inhibitions, as if dangerous cars simply didn't exist in his universe. This cat would greet anybody who came by with full-on love and acceptance, if you would pet him, you were in.
This cat would curl at my feet under the covers when I slept and climbed on my chest when I needed him; I called him my first boyfriend and meant it. He was my first cat-love (cue the "Endless Love" lyrics - http://www.lyricsfreak.com/l/lionel+richie/endless+love_20083832.html).
And when he was hit by some driver in the street outside our house, while I was sleeping a 14-year-old sleep, dreaming, no doubt, of the terrifyingly large public high school I had just started attending (after years of small private Catholic school), my Dad dealt with it. He had Tiger put to sleep because he was just too hurt to survive. And when my Dad told me the next day, it was one of only a few times I've seen him cry. I'll bet that was really hard for him, but he did it.
And yes, as the cheesy song "Endless Love" suggests, there's nothing like the first. But just as my husband has supplanted all prior loves, Colby stole my heart from the first little meep and it's hard, hard, hard to give him up. But I will, only because I see the faint prospect of freedom, with little to no burdens, glimmering on the horizon like a beautiful Seattle sunset. And there's no end to the big adventure I'm going to have with my husband, my last love, and I have to believe that it's worth it.
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