Since my last post went on and on about what a wonderful cat Delmar is, I would be remiss if I didn't say a few words about my other feline housemate, Monika.
True, she's no longer here in corporeal form, having passed away several months ago. But she's still here in spirit, much missed but no less beloved. I had only lived in this house for about a month before she died, but as far as I'm concerned, she will always be a part of this place, and always have a home here.
She's been invading my dreams lately, too. They don't specifically focus on her, but whatever is going on in the dream, Monika is always there, a lovely, benign presence, her wide face and dignified mien suggesting a wisdom she never quite chooses to share. She's sweet and loving and unfailingly decent, but always reserved and just a tiny bit remote.
Which is pretty much what she was like in real life. When compared to a crazy force of nature like Delmar, Monika's quiet nature could fade into the background. It was easy to take her for granted, and sometimes I did, but she'd always reassert herself, remind me of why I loved her in the first place. Periodically she'd abandon all dignity and tear about like a kitten, or climb on my shoulder for no apparent reason, or use her patented James Coburn Zen Cool to display her superiority to lesser four-legged beings. (Poor Del was putty in her paws, but Monika could quietly intimidate anyone. She once calmly punched--not scratched or clawed, but punched, using her paw balled into a workable fist--my mom's large dog, who thereafter ran from her in fear.) She was just short of her sixteenth birthday when she died, but in all that time, I never did quite figure her out.
I'm not a spiritual person in any way, and I have no use for New Agey crap or messages from beyond or that sort of thing. Still, I like to think of these dreams as Monika's way of saying hello, letting me know she's still out there in the ether, fuzzy, gray and inscrutable as ever, and eternally awesome.
