Meditating on Love and Loss
I have been given the opportunity to love a cat for 6 months. He wasn't the easiest cat to care for. He was turning 18 years old and had a lot of health problems. By the end of it, he had random poop droppings, puked every week, and couldn't clean himself up after using the cat litter. He had a couple of expensive health scares before his final passing. He can only eat wet food and needed a bunch of meds in the morning and evening. I can't feed him too much, or he's liable to puke; I can't feed him too little because look at his little eyes.
I never regretted any moment of it.
He was the sweetest cat ever — he never scratched me, and always followed me around. He had the funniest, deepest meow that my brother loved to imitate. He loved attention like a dog. He always centered himself in the middle of the crowd and loved being scratched and petted. He was the first cat I cared for by myself. Every buttwipe, every chin scratch, every canned food open, contains both frustration and love. I wish I had him when he was younger — his aging body would've been full of life and sprightliness. His affections would've been more lively. But I'm glad I had him in his twilight years.
He's gone now. I only had the opportunity to love him for 6 months.
I have the opportunity to love a girl, so far, for 7 months. It wasn't the slowest of burns nor the most passionate of starts. It's an international long distance relationship, so the yearning is immense and poetic. Video calls and Discord chats always seem performative compared to physical proximity. All the banter and longing is filtered through a screen. I'm lucky that I can visit her at least every quarter — but that makes each successive separation even harder, knowing that we have to go back to 300 characters and tech-giant-approved emojis.
And I don't regret any moment of it.
The relationship is a fine wine, not a bomb. It develops strongly over time, rather than sputters after a few months. It's the kind of love that doesn't demand paragraphs of dramatic prose. I wonder for her safety rather than whether she loves me. She makes me coffee, and we sip our cups together. She plans the itinerary and I become the human GPS. Despite opposite timezones, I know she is there for me when she wakes up, and she is the first thing I think about when I open my eyes.
There is yet more to write about in the future, because I hope to love her for far, far longer than 7 months.
I am lucky to experience multiple kinds of love this past year. From a fleeting kind, to a comfortable, silly love. My cat has touched multiple lives throughout his 18 years of life. I am hoping I live the rest of my life with the love of my life.