May 17, 2004 - 10:03 PM

My Girl Is Gone

She's gone. She's gone. My baby girl is gone. Things are changing back home. I talked with my mom yesterday; she and my dad had a yard sale (when she called last week, she had asked what stuff of mine I still wanted to keep...now I know why). They've sold the baby grand piano that we've had for 15 years. They're even considering putting the house on the market, the house which they just finished paying off within the past couple of years; if they get a good price, and if my dad gets a job offer elsewhere, they'll finalize and move. The only "home" I remember. It was never fathomable for me to think that the house would no longer be home for us. But there it is, stark reality. My parents don't need all that space, they don't need a lot of what's in the house, and they need to save up more money to live off of in their retirement. Bye-bye Brick Ranch-style house with your floody basement and your creaky wood floors and your drafty kitchen. Bye-bye Westerly-facing room I shared with Phil that got so golden warm during brisk autumn afternoons as the Sun reached her fingers through softly shedding trees in the backyard. Bye-bye sprawling lawn of prickly kentucky bluegrass where we learned how to throw the baseball and the football. Bye-bye living room with your modest fireplace that baked us kindly when the snow fell, with the space before the large window reserved for the christmas tree, with the light blue-green painted walls.

I asked "what about Newt?" And she paused, measuring her words, and I immediately knew, before she spoke. Then she told me. She and my dad paid the Humane Society to take her in and to look for a new owner. They had to let her go so that they could start to let go of the house. They had to give her up so that they could be free to live the next part of their lives, whatever that may be. They had to part with Newt. It was time.

When? A couple weeks ago...before they came out this way to be with Sharon's dad as he deals with health issues for a week in Vegas. She just couldn't bear to tell me. I asked if she had taken any last pictures of her before they gave her away, but she said that she couldn't because it was too tough. My parents took her to the society and my dad couldn't go in; my mom went in, dropped her off, and left as quickly as possible. Despite her being a little nuisance, they still loved her.

She was worried about how I would react. When i told her I was driving, she got really worried. :) But I got over the shock and told her that I would be ok. I just needed some time to let it sink in. But I didn't have time since I was on my way to work (dude, yeah, I had a gig! A friend of mine who does theater design and lighting knew of a thing this past weekend that needed a sound person, and she recommended me for the job. It was a Gay/Lesbian choir doing spirituals, choral pieces, hymns, and selections from musicals in a performance timed to celebrate the big hoohah happening in Massachusetts as of today where marriage licenses for same-sex couples are now legal. My first time doing live sound of any kind, and I didn't screw up. In fact, the theater manager liked me enough that he wants me to do a 6 week show starting in June! Plus, there was a sound guy recording the show the first night, and we talked and he's looking for a part-time assistant to help out with recording and mixing of classical sessions and concerts, so he gave me his card and told me to call him. Bonus!).

Even though I was busy all day with the show, I still let my thoughts wander back to the news. And I kept thinking about how I would never again go home and have her springing around my feet as soon as I walked through the door; I would never have her rubbing herself all over my legs to mark her scent on me, letting everyone know that I was hers; I would never have her warming me up as I lay in bed, her body curled next to mine. My thoughts, my memories, my sense of loss were all tied to the sense of touch. That's what I remember of her, and that's what I do and will miss. Her fur, soft but not too soft and sheddy; the little stubbly hairs climbing up above her nose; the warm white tufts on her belly. Her tiny fragile body that was at the same time so strong; the familiar way her back arched as you scratched your way down her spine to the nub of a tail she stuck up in the air; the cute (and painful) kneading she performed on my shirt while she prepared to take a nap on my chest. Her dog-like insistence of butting your hand with her head and her nose to get you to rub her under the chin, behind the ears, and around the neck.

On my way to court today, I was listening to an album by cubano-americano Nil Lara (one I haven't listened to in a while), and there was one song that I had forgotten how much I love. It's called My First Child and it's an ode to his new son. Some of the lyrics stuck out and struck me to sadness...

"waking at night
wanting caress
I'll keep you warm beside my bed
together we'll rest
deep in your sleep"

and the chorus:

"You're my first child
I'll show you no harm
I'll teach you my love...

You're my first child
I'll lose you someday
to some other love"

Yeah, she's just a cat. But she's my baby girl. My darling. And I'm glad she had eight years with me and my family.

Now Listening To : Nil Lara-Nil Lara
Random Thought : Bye Newt >^..^<

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