Six months ago this week we lost Ariel, the first cat I owned as an adult. I could nostalgically talk about Ariel in loving terms and wax on about how gentle and friendly she was, but actually she was loud and cranky. She had a lot of personality, and most of it was bad. But that was part of her charm.
I bring this up now because I had a dream about Ariel last night, a dream where she crawled in under the covers and bitched at me because I wasn’t giving her enough room for her rightful place on the bed. After six months you begin to forget things about a pet, about what they looked like or how they behaved like or sounded or that funny habit they had. This dream was so real, the sound and the feel and the whole presence of her that I expected to wake up with her claws in my back just like I used to.
I miss her a lot (no really).