He Still Cries Out for Her..

He Still Cries Out for Her

Every morning, we go for our walk, just as we have done for what feels like forever.

Me, Angel the dog, and the cats, wandering through the fields together.

But now, something is missing.

Every morning, as we come through the old gate, Stitch, my beautiful black and white tomcat, stops. He looks back. And he meows.

He cries out for her.

It has been well over a month since we lost Noodle, our little black and white cat, and still he calls for her as though she might suddenly come running back to us.

Stitch is eight years old, and he misses her so much. I can see it. I feel it. And if I'm honest, these walks have become difficult for me too.

What was once a simple part of our everyday life, something I probably took for granted, now carries sadness with it. The familiar little group of us walking through the fields has changed.

We are still missing her.

And we miss her so much.

Several people have asked me, especially my children, whether we will get more cats. Or perhaps another dog.

And the truth is... I don't know.

I really don't know.

Part of me would love to welcome another little life into our family. I wonder if getting one cat, or perhaps two, might bring a little joy back into our home. Maybe it would help Stitch. Maybe it would make those morning walks feel a little less empty.

But there is also fear.

The fear of loving another animal and losing them. The fear of getting cats and constantly worrying about the road. The fear of going through this heartbreak all over again.

I don't know what the right thing to do is.

But then, is there even such a thing as the right thing when it comes to grief and love?

Perhaps there isn't.

Perhaps there is only what feels right for us, when the time is right.

For now, Stitch still stops at the gate and calls for his friend.

And I understand.

Because I am still looking back too.

We loved her. We still love her.

And we still miss our little Noodle every single day.

Maybe one day, another cat—or two—will find their way into our family. Not to replace her, because she could never be replaced, but simply to bring new love, new memories and new little paws into our lives.

But for now, I don't know.

And maybe it's okay not to know.

Maybe, for now, we just keep walking.

Together.

Even with the empty space beside us.