Friday, June 5th 2015
I returned home from the vet’s on Tuesday, with Freya’s carrying cage in my hand. I had made this journey on other occasions, happy to be taking Freya home where she would relax and be calm again. Today, though, the cage was empty and she would never ride in it again. At home, I set about “tidying up”. Apparently, this is something that grieving people do. Why we do it I don’t know. If it is to remove all traces of the lost loved one in order not to be reminded of her by her personal possessions, then I can tell you that it doesn’t work. The empty spaces where they stood speak even more shockingly of her absence.
I emptied the litter tray into a stout plastic bag and put this, together with an unopened bag of litter, in the dustbin. The plastic tray took up residence in one of the recycling bins.
Next, I gathered up Freya’s food and water bowls and placed them in her carrying cage, along with the mat they stood on, and a toy she sometimes played with. For now, the cage went back to its usual position on top of the wardrobe.
Now I had to tackle the food store. Freya has always been choosy about her food and had already suffered an occasional temporary loss of appetite. I had therefore accumulated a variety of brands and types of cat food in my attempts to cajole her into eating again. Packed into the shopping trolley, this backlog half filled it. What should I do with this food? Throwing it away would be wasteful and someone would surely by glad of it. I phoned the nearest PDSA clinic and asked whether they would like to have the food for their in-patients. They said they certainly would.
This solved one problem but now a complication arose – my feelings about thus disposing of Freya’s things. This was Freya’s food and it felt strange to be giving it away, as though I were depriving her of what was rightfully hers. My logical mind knows that it is the sensible thing to do but my emotions take a less coherent view.
There is worse to come, however, in the shape of Freya’s carrying cage, still sitting in its usual place on top of the wardrobe. I have decided to donate it and its contents to one of the animal welfare charity shops. The money raised will help other cats in need so it is obviously a good thing to do. Yet, every time I catch sight of the cage, which has sat in the selfsame spot on the wardrobe for a decade, the idea of getting rid of it seems wrong. It’s part of the furniture, part of Freya and of me; part of of our story. Logic says “Get rid of it” but emotion says “Leave it here where it belongs”.
Yesterday, Thursday, I packed the food into the shopping trolley, hauled it onto the tube and then trundled it from the station at Hendon Central to the PDSA clinic at Church End. One job done.
So far I have not disposed of the carrying cage and its contents. It’s my intention to take the 214 hopper bus to Kentish Town and to hand the cage to the PDSA charity shop there. This journey will mimic the numerous occasions on which I have taken Freya in her cage on the bus on our way to the cattery. I shall return home empty-handed, as from the cattery, though never to return to reclaim the cage or its contents.
Old habits die hard and continue to haunt you after they are no longer needed. I look carefully before sitting down on the settee in case Freya is curled up there. I go to open the net curtains in the bedroom so that Freya can see out. If I get up in the night, I tread careful so as not to step on Freya in the dark.
The lock screen of my iPhone has a picture of Freya looking out with that characteristic expressions of hers. I find it hard to look at. Tigger suggested I remove it for a while and restore it later but this felt wrong, as though I were pushing Freya out of my life. I have left it in place.
The title of this post, then, describes my feelings, irrational though they may be. Passing on Freya’s possessions to others who can benefit from them is the sensible thing to do and yet it feels strangely wrong, like a betrayal. My logical mind knows this is nonsense and that what I am doing is reasonable but my emotions remain to be convinced. Perhaps I’ll wait a while before donating the cage so as to give them time to catch up.