I've already written about how Thelma, my warrior tabby of blessèd memory, bestowed one last gift, a picture of which you can see here. She was one of three wonderful fur angels but I must confess I miss her the most.She was my gardening companion. This spring I noticed my heart aching as I started clearing out winter plant debris. I wept a bit while greeting daffodils, snowdrops, and grape hyacinths without my tabby in tow.
We had another grand ritual, Thelma and I. Proclaiming, "go forth and kill something for mommy," I'd fling open the front door with a great flourish. Thelma would return with a carcass which, as anyone who has been possessed by cats knows, is a sign of great love and devotion. I recalled this yesterday while watching squirrels and cursing the birds dive-bombing my windows.
I could ─ and occasionally do ─ burst into tears from missing my tabby, like when I opened my front door this morning to find this:
