orange

The Max has woken up. You can tell because there is now thumping coming from upstairs and the chattering has started up again. Max likes to narrate his existence - he will tell you all about the things he is looking at under the bed, the things that are happening at the end of the hallway and, if you have time, he will take you on a tour of the house stopping to point out the landmarks along the way.

I was reading a thread earlier today where a new cat owner was wondering how you stopped a cat from 'yowling in the middle of the night'. I stopped reading shortly thereafter as I realized I had no real advice to give. Because Max has always been noisy and I have always responded to his caroling with "Really? What is Max doing?". Also, I have learned to sleep through the midnight singing.

Bird was different. He'd convinced my mother and I that he didn't meow - only made little breathy meeps or humphs - until we took him to the vet for the first time. He stood on my lap in the car and let out this very sad meow. He looked a little nonplussed when our reaction was more amazement that he could speak than sympathy for his position. And really, that was basically the only time he'd make big loud sounds. He didn't like the car, he didn't like his crate and he wanted us to turn the car around and let him go home.

I'm not totally sure what Bird made of Max when he first arrived. He was certainly very interested in the new smells but I think he was a little puzzled by the amount of energy one small orange cat had. At night he took to sleeping on the top of the chest of drawers because he could jump up there but Max could not. A refuge from the rascal kitten.



I think what I'm missing most is just Bird's quiet presence. The fact that when I worked from home he would sleep on the table wrapped around my computer. Or the fact that he often followed me from room to room to keep an eye on what was going on. The fact that you knew he was really upset if he looked at you and meowed with no sound. It is still very surprising to me that he's not around.

And I feel indulgent in this grief. Like I should be doing something else. Something better. Something more socially redeeming... or just something more. But I don't really know how. So instead, I will tell you Bird stories that you have heard before and follow the orange cat around as he shows me all his stuff.