... is the hardest part. Not hearing this little paws on the hardwood floors or scolding the cats when they are doing something they shouldn't be, reminds me of him.
It's now been two months since we lost Ein, and while the hurt has dissipated a great deal (or maybe it's I've just gotten used to it), the hole in Meg and I's lives has not. Even Olivia, my 14 year old kitten, has been impacted. While they were not close close, she tolerated his antics and such. Since his departure, she has taken to sleeping in his crate, on his bedding, and wanting more attention. The other two cats could care less.
Even until last week I would have these moments of "I need to let him out," or expecting to see his face poking out of the fence as I pulled into the drive way.
I like to imagine he's chasing them laser pointers or just staring out into the endless views, pondering what ever it was he pondered.