He’s just a cat. That’s what I keep reminding myself when my heart starts to ache.
Just a cat. Of little significance. Far bigger things to worry about. Get real. You’ve seen what’s going on in the world, right?
A cat. Pull yourself together man. Stiff upper lip. Brave face. Accept and move on.
Only I can’t. ‘Just a cat’ has gone. Missing for hours. Hours that have turned into days. Days that will become a week.
He’ll be back. Cat flap will rattle. Tiny bell will ring. Peace broken by the sound of his voice.
Normality resumed. What was all the fuss about? Stop sweating the small stuff. Some perspective, please.
He’s just a cat. Shared with the family, but my little soul mate. A time-waster. Escapism. My cat.
Just a cat. One that will crawl up your leg when he wants to be held. Cradled in your arms for hours. Eyes shut. Purring. Content.
A cat. One that will walk alongside you when it’s time to feed the goats. Opposite side to the dog. Skipping to keep up. Tail up. Happy.
I’ll wake up to find him in his favoured position. Stretched out on the bed. His bed. Head resting on my leg.
Later he’ll stop me from writing. Cornered into my chest and left elbow. Front legs draped across my wrist. Head up. Eyes shut. Purring.
He hasn’t mastered the act of kneading. Tiny paws grab at fresh air. Left paw. Then right paw. Then back to the left paw. Cute. Adorable.
He’s just a cat. Only after me for my food and shelter. His terms. His decision. He calls the shots. Or so I’m told.
Just a cat. At least that’s what I’m telling myself. Better that way. Ease the pain. Accept and move on.
A cat. My cat. The best cat. A much-missed cat. Come back soon, Skomie. The place isn’t the same without you.
