An insufficiency of sleep and a dull ache in my head persuaded me to lie overlong abed this morning. I did not, however, doze.
At first, a scenario played out in my thoughts, for the story I have been writing. Easiest for me to be creative when I am least likely to be disturbed.
Then my eyes played over the many photographs on my walls, that have travelled with me from home to home, ever more numerous.
It is gratifying to have happy memories, but in moments when one is feeling vulnerable or a little fragile, they inevitably, at least for me, lead to melancholy.
When my eyes began to leak, I knew it was time to rise.
Cisco and Panther, buddies.
When Panther died, Cisco did not long outlive him.
Cisco’s death was followed only months later by Grisabel’s.
All the companions of my fifties gone, just like that.
Thimphu, the youngest, had been the first of that group to go, when he arrived one day at simply being unable to live any longer, with the smooched-in face he was unfortunately bred to have.
I tried to have it improved for him, but the surgery was not possible, as there was nothing for the doctor to mould.
There had been Annie, too.
“Orphan Annie”, I called her. She came to be Panther’s companion but no-one had thought to tell me she needed to be an only cat.
No way I could take her back to the shelter. I wish I could have done more for her, but I suppose she was happy in her little way.
At least she did love me. She died earlier on, before my venture into foster-cats.
Georgy joined us for 18 short months.
Another little face on my wall.
The pills that contribute to my headaches at least help to stop the tears. I gave my morning dose a miss, and here I am posting pictures of my long dead cats and missing them. Probably because they were my faithful companions that never broke my heart or demanded more than I could give.
When I feel stronger, I remember them with fondness and joy, that they shared my life. After all, you never want to forget who you loved. It is a slight misfortune that I suffer so badly with separation anxiety, but in the scheme of things, that is not much to bear.
I lay reading in bed last night and thoughts kept creeping in around the pages, of the homeless, laying out there in the night, hungry and afraid. So much more appropriate that I should shed tears for them. I do, but is it because I feel compassion, or is it that I fear so much returning some day as one of them? How was I born so fortunate?
How is it that I can sit here, in my home, with very little changed, when so many millions out there have lost their jobs and their security, their whole way of life. How is it that I never had to fight in a war or even suffer though one? That I’ve never had to put my life at risk? How is it I have escaped so much suffering?
As a young person, I wanted to lead a revolution for the poor, the down-trodden and the unappreciated, those who suffer from discrimination. I had the will, but not the way.
What I most feel, currently, is outrage at the leadership of this country. At a time when, like no other, the USA should be demonstrating compassion and guidance, all I see is a person who seeks to blame any and everybody else for his shortcomings. Instead of supporting his governors and his people, he has made life more difficult and more painful, while offering not an ounce of sympathy or feeling.
It pains me most that so many still support this sort of President, still insist that he is a fine man, that he has done a wonderful job, in the face of bitter opposition. I am no more political than I am religious. I believe in what I feel to be just and I realize that there will always be differences of opinion about what that may be. So my rage is not a matter of politics. It’s a matter of humanity. And I detest liars.
As I have no children, the future should perhaps not matter to me, but it does, because I love our beautiful Planet Earth and most of her creatures.