The Bubble

I had to set a few things down for a while lately, this blog being one of them. One other was folding and putting away laundry. Another was cooking food that didn’t come out of a box. I am working full-time on horses for no pay while I work towards my diploma for equine massage, and the weeks started to get to me.

Then I heard about Paris yesterday, and realised how very little I hear about the outside world from in here, my 11 acre bubble. In a fit of desperation to see everything good and beautiful about Paris, I watched Amelie late last night, and hoped that some speck of my good thoughts and positive energy about the city would reach those affected by the terrible incidents.

Lately, I was hit with the less romantic part of living out here in the county. My precious Sir Richard had taken to hunting where the coyotes also like to hunt, and ultimately they had finally decided to hunt him. He did not come home one morning. Whilst I had jokingly referred to him as my “emotional support animal” in the past, I didn’t appreciate just how true that term was until he was gone. He had been my companion through the lonely and long adjustment period of moving to a new country and learning how to exist in this community. He had been a warm, adoring bed fellow when Cowboy had been away at a weekend every month, and he had been my breakfast companion all through the summer when I sat on the steps outside the house to eat.

I dealt with losing him with typical grace and poise – I bawled, screamed and sobbed in a heap on my bathroom floor for an hour one afternoon while Cowboy was out at work. I was so loud and pathetic that the dog hid under the dining table until I was done. I couldn’t stop crying for quite some time. I tried to muster my stiff British upper lip, telling myself he was just a cat, until Cowboy finally told me to stop trying to laugh it off. He told me it was ok to be sad. I could only manage to get the sadness out when I was alone, when I missed Richard’s little chirps and purrs the most.

The house took on a strange feeling of emptiness without him, and I had a desperate urge to get another cat as quickly as I could. We brought home a tiny grey and white kitten a couple of weeks ago, just about two weeks after losing Richard, and he is blossoming into a lovely cat. We’re trying Geoffrey out as a name.

It would be tempting to keep the new cat inside for his whole life, as so many people seem to do here. Some people seem to think it is cruel and irresponsible to allow a cat to have an outdoor life, where there are the risks of predators. I can’t imagine confining a cat to my house, when the outdoors is such a rich and happy place for them. No amount of toys and cat trees can replace the stimulus they find from hunting and exploring for themselves. Geoff will also be an indoor-outdoor cat, just as Richard was. Better a shorter, glorious existence than a long, tedious one in the house bubble.

I am looking forward to getting out of my house bubble soon, although I hope it will be to better news than the attacks across the world in the last few days. Hopefully I will finish the revamp of my kitchen, where I am painting the cabinets and walls, and were Cowboy has repaired the sink and built me a new sideboard out of old barn wood. Hopefully I will remember how to cook. Maybe the clean clothes will make it from the laundry room to the closet. I might even make it into the saddle again.

Do you ever get your life together, when you become a grown up? I feel as if I may never make it.

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