Grief

In 2009, when April gave us the kitten, he was named
Moroni, but we shortened the name to Momo.

When I woke up this morning, I didn't think I'd be attending a funeral tonight.

2014. Watchful and wary, yet playful, Momo
was a beloved part of our family.

This afternoon, I had just returned home from taking the house key to the cat sitter when one of the kids made a comment about Momo choosing a strange place to take a nap. When I went to investigate, our beautiful orange cat was lying on the floor in the hallway, in front of the linen closet door, just a few feet from my bedroom door. It looked like he was asleep, but when I reached out to stroke his silky fur, there was no response at all. When I looked at him closer, I realized that his eyes were open a little, but unfocused and kind of glazed, and his tongue was sticking out the side of his mouth. Suspecting the worst, I picked him up. It was like picking up a boneless mass. There was still no response, no sign of breathing, but also no sign of any damage - no injury was evident at all. I tried to think of when I had seen him last, and I think he was lying on Josh's bed this morning when I was collecting laundry to wash. I don't remember seeing him after that, but that isn't unusual. He usually spends the day sleeping on some bed or another.

I wonder now, if I had rushed him to an animal hospital, if they might have been able to do something for him, but I didn't know where to take him, and I was pretty sure he was already dead. I wrapped him in a blanket and held him for a long while while I cried.

Today.

When Steven came home from work, he dug a grave inside the gate to our patio. After dinner, we knelt together in a family prayer, all of us with tears streaming down our cheeks. We remembered how Momo loved to play with marbles. Every night as we were preparing for bed, Momo would sit by my bedside table ready for our evening ritual. We would bounce marbles on the ground and Momo would reach out with his paw - bam! and stop them. If the marbles got past him, he would chase them and pounce on them, sometimes batting them around with his paw.

Momo was a timid cat. He was scared easily, but he came to trust Steven and me. If we were reading on our bed, he frequently would come up to snuggle with us, to let us pet him and scratch his chin. Occasionally he would lay on his back with his belly exposed to be rubbed. Steven would rub his belly for him; I wouldn't usually because he was quick to scratch if we rubbed a little longer than he wanted us to.

We laid his stiffening body to rest, and then gathered in a group hug as we tried to console one another. He was part of our family, and he will be missed. A lot. I hope that someday we will meet again.