Losses

Yeah, it's been a few days. I've been off at a conference, and while the conference itself was spectacularly good, everything bad that could possibly happen while I was away or on my way back, did, or nearly so.

The current score:

My house is a complete mess.

I have a nasty cold.

The Passat TDI overheated and seized on the way home, rendering a pleasant $6000 car useless.

Worst of all, we got home, and I lost two of my friends. Apparently Friday sometime, both Henry and Yellowcat died. The same day. Suzanne got there first, and Yellow was lying down in the middle of the living room floor, unmoving. Henry was curled up under the armchair in the kitchen.

These things never happen in isolation. I know I'll lose them all some day, I just never figured I'd lose two at once. Suzanne and I laid them to rest yesterday, on a cold, windy, sunny day before the temperature really fell.

Yellow pretty much came with the house; he was living in the barn in 1996 when we bought it, and he was fairly mature then, so I figure he was at least 2 or 3, but could have been older. He was a wise, gentle Othercat, partial to meatsticks and sliced cold cuts and unable to tell when the chicken treats ended and your fingers began. When he was happy with the world, he didn't purr so much as he zurfed. You knew when Yellow was around, because you'd hear "zurf, zurf, zurf."

Henry was a happy, friendly cat who liked to roll around and get attention from women. He and his sister, Emma, who is disconsolate about losing him, have literally never been apart a day in their lives. When they were kittens, they and their brother Piper and sister Clara would sleep in a big heap. Often, they would nurse on any part of Henry they could reach... his guts, his ears, the tip of his tail. Henry and Emma were part of "white cats and Bert," since after they grew up they chose to socialize with Fred (class of 1996) and Bert (class of 2000) more so than Piper and Clara. Picture the old Tubes song, "White Punks On Dope," but instead, "White Cats And Bert."

So much had already happened that week and this weekend that I don't think I've fully come to terms with losing them. No one to squeak when I say, "Hen-reeeeeeeee!" and no Yellowcat Balls to sing about at Christmastime. Just like that, the house is smaller and emptier.

I don't know what happened to them. No signs of injury, neither of them was ever sick, and I'd checked them both before I left a week ago. Plenty of food, water and amusements. They just... died. Yellow was in a position that made me think he had a sudden heart failure, a lot like Marnie last year. Henry was curled up, as if he had just gone to sleep and not awakened.

I just don't know.

The house, I can clean. The TDI will probably get rebuilt, as it saves me too much on fuel not to do it (I went from here all the way to Orlando on a single tank of diesel and was in perfect shape to do the same on the return trip). But Henry and Yellow are gone.

Winter's here now.