I wish I'd found this thread several weeks ago when our cat Sasha died. I was so desperate. This thread would have helped. I used to sneak downstairs at night when everyone else was asleep, and go online searching for 'cat spirit' sites, hoping to find some comfort. I was grief wracked. I desperately wanted Sasha to come back, even if only for a second.
Yet when our little dog died several years ago, I was (I realise now) really strong and right-thinking. I loved that dog like one of the children, but I was able to hold the family together and encourage them to let our dog go so that he could have some peace and a rest, instead of holding him back with our grief. Even when I felt an inexplicable warm spot at the end of the bed where he used to sit, I mentally told our little dog not to worry about us but to move on now and we'd join him soon enough. I cared more for our dog's peace of mind and spiritual progress than I did about my own needs. I don't know why I wasn't able to be as selfless about Sasha.
We adopted Sasha when she was 10 and she was with us for six years. I simply intended to give her all possible security, comfort and love during her remaining years, to make up for the horrible life she'd had before she came to us. We'd never had a cat before. Before Sasha came into our lives, we believed we were 'dog people'. Sasha wasn't a cuddly cat. We suspected it was because she'd never been given much affection in the years before we knew her. She liked to be left alone, although she was affectionate in her own way, on her terms, which we respected. We never knew when we were going tto receive a claw in the hand for patting her, but we did so anyway and in time, she relaxed. She liked being stroked and brushed -- or at least she tolerated it. And she made sure she sought each of us out individually each day for a short while, to spend a bit of private time with us. She had some lovely little ways.
Sasha loved my daughter the most, out of the four of us, and spent most of her time on my daughter's bed. She told me she was dying though -- warned me -- a month before there were any signs, so that I could prepare my daughter. And for two nights before she died, Sasha -- sick and weak though she was -- unexpectedly jumped up onto the sofa (forbidden territory for her usually) and made herself comfortable on top of me .. even though I don't think it was all that comfortable for her. But she stayed there, and stared deep into my eyes. She was speaking to me and it was deep, but I'm not sure what the message was, other than perhaps to let me know she liked me more than she usually revealed. It was as surprising as it was touching and I really appreciated it.
I just couldn't let Sasha go. I didn't want to. I wanted her to come back, right or wrong though that may be. I wasn't generous or thinking clearly enough to let her go; let her move on. I tried to contact her mentally and even asked her to appear. I can't explain why I behaved like that. For a couple of weeks I spoke to her as if she was still sitting there on the end of the bed in the morning sun. I wouldn't allow anyone to put anything down on the bed and even silently apologised to her for disturbing her when I made the bed. I couldn't see a photo of her without howling. It occurred to me I was losing my grip, but I didn't care.
But, despite all that, Sasha hasn't popped in to say hello. A few times I've believed I've seen her coming around the corner into the kitchen, but I think it was because I was just used to seeing her in that spot and wanted to believe I was seeing her again. I suppose I thought if I 'saw' her clearly enough in my mind, she'd manifest in reality. A lot of it is worry, I think. I protected her while she was here and just want to know she's ok, wherever she is.
The depth of my grief has taken me by surprise. I've let a lot of it out, but there must be ten times more buried inside. My eyes cry all the time, even when I'm busy or with other people or reading or watching tv. I don't mope around any more or dwell morbidly on Sasha. I've accepted it and am sensible about it now (though still sad) but the tears just slide down the side of my face and I automatically blot them away with a tissue. My nose is always running like a tap in the back of my head -- sort of repressed grief/post nasal drip thing. People ask if I have a cold, so I say I do. It will stop when it's ready I suppose. The strange thing is, I actually feel mostly over it, consciously, but obviously something in my mind is taking longer.
I worried I was losing it, but a few weeks ago my daughter mentioned that one of her uni tutors broke down in class. When she returned, she explained to the class that her cat had died six months ago, and she hadn't managed to get over it. The tutor told my daughter after class that the grief was as painful now as it had been when her cat died, even though she'd expected it to ease. She said she was thinking of taking long-service leave and going on holiday to see if that would help. She said when her mother died, it hadn't been anyway near as long and painful a process. She couldn't understand herself. She said she just feels very depressed, despite her efforts to move on. She doesn't know what to do.
We miss our lovely Sasha. She showed us we are not just 'dog people'. We have a new appreciation of cats now. I hope one day I might catch a glimpse of her. If not, I hope to see her again some day, along with all our other departed pets. And I'm deeply glad for those who are visited by the pets they love.
A poster above questioned if people see pets they didn't particularly care for in life, after death. Apparently so. Years ago, one of the first books about the subject I ever read contained the story of a German couple who had their poodles 'put to sleep' because, they claimed, they couldn't stand the mess and the noise (!) (expletive). The couple claimed that to their great annoyance, the poodles' ghosts continued to annoy them by racing through the house, barking joyously. If memory serves, the story was accompanied by a photo which did contain what appeared to be an almost complete, though wispy, pale coloured poodle accompanied by the rear end of another, against the real-life background of living-room furniture and the German couple, who were seated normally in two separate arm-chairs. Other posters may recognise the story and be able to provide a source ?
i am very touched by the fact he still makes contact.
:sob: I've never had a cat come back so I could see them, either. In my experience the only way to fill that cat-shaped hole in your life is - another cat.