My cat Clara died on Sunday. He died in my arms. It was 14 on the Fourth of July.
It hurt. Very. Not that I've ever been a “animal lover” but... it hurt as much as it hurts whenever you lose something or someone that was part of your life.
Clara, besides being my first and only cat, accompanied me in more than a quarter of my life. An important room of life. It's important because it's the last one and that's why it's there.
A room of life where my children were born and which defines my present life. Where my most recent memories fit in. Important for being... important.
Clara was a friend. When I arrived, I came to say hello. When I sat down, I'd come to you for a treat. When I was working at home, I'd keep my desk company next to my laptop. When I sensed a sad person, I would give “snakes” with my nose in the corner of my eyes, as if to say, “Do not cry!”.
In the morning, I missed you and stood by the bathtub while I was bathing. Probably worried about the lack of sense of a consented bath.
If being a friend is knowing how to listen, follow, be on the sidelines, like to receive, be balanced, without excesses or hysteria, I can say that man's best friend is not (just) the dog.
I have had, and like, dogs, by Clara today I say “I am more of cats”.
*P.S.: Apart from the post “personal”, Clara is responsible for “activating” the Blog. And it's to continue...