I never had a pet before Lois. I don't think Shadow the cat counts, really, since he only lived with us for a couple of months before mysteriously leaving with my dad one day in a haze of scratched skin and broken ceiling panels. Mourn him we did not. But sweet, sweet Lois we do. Anyone who met her can attest that she was a very, very special creature. Will I miss the cat hair everywhere or cleaning the carpet after her rapidly increasing accidents or the funky odor I can't seem to get out of the corner of the room? No. Will I miss dropping a fat stack of cash at the vet's each month for unexpected medical bills and special gluten-free cat food? No. Will I miss not being able to have friends over because of their allergies? No. But I will miss the way she would jump up on the bed to snuggle at my feet every night and the way she would purposefully bump her head on the coffee table and the way she would always sit on the one sheet of paper I would need and the way she would come get me for bed about 10pm every night and the way she would wait patiently at the screen door for me to let her out so we could sit together in the sun.
More than anything, I learned from Lois that language is way overrated (funny thing to write in a blog, eh?). Here was this little being who loved me and who I loved yet we could never speak to each other (though I still catch myself saying goodbye to her when I leave the house). She knew me and I knew her without using any words. She comforted me and I comforted her without any talking. By having a relationship without any language, I learned to listen and to be patient and to not always need to analyze everything to death. I am a better person because of a cat. If that makes me a cat lady, so be it. She will be missed.
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