It’s been a little hard to get completely excited today about the upcoming release date for The Knife of Narcissus Parts 1-2. For the past couple of weeks I’ve been caring for an ill pet, and, honestly, things look pretty bad today. Just when I’m gearing up to enjoy being a self-published M/M Romance author, it’s almost a certainty I’ll be closing the cover on a huge era of my life.
Seventeen years ago I had just moved to a new city, planning to go to grad school, had a perfect housemate who loved all the same crazy things I did, and I had all sorts of plans. (I was absolutely going to decorate the house Roman style…saner heads prevailed.) I didn’t pick out the funny-looking tiny tortoiseshell kitten–she wasn’t even, technically, my cat–though I did carry her home in my lap, curled up in my baseball cap, on a long ride back from (what I sketchily remember as) a farm in the middle of nowhere. But I inherited her later when my housemate moved out of state and this cat absolutely did not get along with my housemate’s big tom.
The cat I inherited was smart, daring, a little wild, would rather be outdoors than indoors, left me gifts of the choicest half of multiple geckos, insisted on going on walks with the dog (and complained loudly if we walked too fast for her), was always talkative, and fierce. All through the long process of creating The Knife of Narcissus, she batted at my hands while I wrote (because I must be wiggling my fingers around as a game, right?) and tried to get my attention by lying on the keyboard or pushing the laptop off her previously assigned human parking space. In these later years she changed from cranky, independent beastie to cuddler. She always ran to meet me at the door. When she stopped doing that a couple of weeks ago, I knew something was wrong, and it’s scary how quickly she’s gone from vivacious to completely sapped of energy.
It’s not like she can sit and reminisce with me about the other pets who have come and gone and the times we’ve shared, but it has always been nice to think that, somewhere in that cat-size memory, she knew all the things we’ve been through together. It’s just too hard celebrate the big pub date when it’s so unlikely she’ll still be here. I’m a grownup, I’ve lost pets before….Never gets easy, though, does it?
Obligatory cat photos included. She’s a funny-looking cat, and I’ll miss seeing her funny-looking face.