My cat disappeared

Over 3 weeks ago we went to a friend's house for movie night. We'd just started the movie when our neighbor texted to say that Madrox (one of our cats) was outside trying to get in the house. To which we, rightly, freaked out and Mike drove back home to get her inside. Turns out it was Layla (our other [devil] cat). Mike let her in and came back thinking all was good.

The next morning we woke up, fed the cats, and sat down and watched TV like we do most Saturdays. Except Madrox didn't show up for breakfast. That isn't entirely uncommon, though. She's old and sometimes sleeps through the morning.

But 10 turned to 11 turned to 12 and she never showed up and my anxiety grew. I searched all her favorite hiding spots and looked in all kinds of new places that I thought would be good cat hiding spots. Then I revisited her favorite hiding spots and literally turned them upside down, all to no avail.

What do you when a pet just disappears? Well, we printed flyers, posted on social media, and called the local vets and animal shelters. Then we made new flyers. (Probably the most expensive lost pet flyers ever since we laminated them so they wouldn't run in the rain) We listened to all the advice and tried all the things - moved her litter box outside, sprinkled catnip all around the yard, rushed to any lead we heard about.

After the initial flurry of activity there's not much to do except sit back and wait. Siting and waiting is hard to do when you've got a pet shaped hole in your heart. We spent the rest of the weekend crying and going to girl scout meetings and crying and playing video games and crying.

I told my husband that Madrox disappearing felt similar to my mom dying. That's not to say that they're the same. They're definitely not. But they are similar.

With my mom I felt un-tethered and useless and angry. There was a lump of sadness on my chest that I couldn't get rid of and I didn't see an end in sight. Now I'm useless again and angry again and again there's a lump of sadness with no foreseeable end. So yeah, it's kind of like losing my mom. Except worse because I've got an 11yo who is experiencing loss for the first time, is completely broken, and needs someone to hold on to. Being there for others while you're falling apart is so hard.

I find myself telling the 11yo all the platitudes that I heard when my mom died, but the one that irks me the most is "it's going to be OK."

I hated when people told me that. It's the last thing you want to hear when it feels like the world is falling apart. But the thing is, it's true.

It's not going to be the same OK that it used to be, but it will be OK. Our lives will go on. We'll go to school and work. We'll hug our family. We'll hang out with friends. We'll cuddle with Layla (as much as she'll let us). And every once in a while we'll look around and remember that there's something missing and we'll cry again.

Grief is one of the most horrible parts of life because it's never the same. It always begins as something huge and messy, but it hits different every time. And it never gets easier no matter how many times you go through it.

Grief is one of the weirdest parts of life because it contains a multitude of emotions. I'm sad and numb and guilty and happy and angry and distraught and hopeful and helpless and excited and tired and energized all at once.

Grief is one of the best parts of life because it's changeable. It starts out sharp and out of your control and eventually becomes like a favorite memento. A hurt that you can unpack and sit with for awhile and then put back on a shelf for later.

Mostly, though, grief is hard.

At this point Madrox will come back or she won't. There's nothing we can do about it and so we're working on remembering the fun times and that everything will be OK either way.

Fly or flop?

It's a flop. Madrox has been gone just over three weeks now. We've taken down the posters, but haven't stopped walking around the block or keeping an eye out for her. I keep seeing her in the corner of my eye and when I look it's just a shadow. The longer she's gone the more I'm accepting that she went on one last great adventure. And though I'm not entirely OK with losing her, I know I will be OK eventually.

Til next month: take chances, make mistakes, get messy, and hug your pets close.Carin

PS. I promise there will be email related content next month. I've been working on/fighting with some CSS animations for October's Litmus Newsletter for a couple of months now and I think I've got all the kinks ironed out, so tune in next month for a CSS animation tutorial.

Sometimes new experiences aren't something you jump into. Sometimes you're thrust into them. In these cases I find it's best (though not always easiest) to start from the assumption that it will all work out. Even if it's not going to work out the way you want it to, it'll still work out.

Not everything is in your control, so sometimes you've got to let the river take you where you're meant to be.

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