It was a week ago that we first realized something was wrong with Templeton and rushed him to the vet. We picked up his ashes this morning. On the way out the door, I was reminded of the Monty Python skit in which the undertaker tells a young man that they can cremate his dead mother and “then you get a box of ashes, which you can pretend are hers.”
The little tin we picked up (which was surprisingly heavy) has a sticker on the bottom that says the ashes are from a certified private cremation for Templeton, but I have my doubts. As we drove home, no ethereal howls emanated from the tin.
Templeton hated riding in the car. Sometimes before we were married, I’d bring Templeton up to my apartment to visit for a week. When we left my wife’s apartment, he’d already be meowing at full strength. He’d keep it up during the half hour drive, somehow getting louder on the way, so that by the time we pulled into my parking lot the car windows were rattling and passers by were giving me dirty looks.
So you’ll forgive me for thinking that even death couldn’t silence Templeton during a car ride.
On the plus side, Scout has been doing as well as I could hope. She’s clearly bothered by his absence and staying closer to us than normal, but towards the end of the week she’s increasingly been sleeping in her old places. She’s eating and playing and sleeping with us at night. Today’s picture was taken Thursday night while she was curled up in the cat bed beside my desk.
We’ve been talking about the right time to add another cat or two to the household. I’m ready but it’s hard to say about Scout — I think she’ll be happiest with other cats, based on how much she loved having Templeton around, but I don’t want her to think we’re trying to replace him. She has her yearly exam on Monday so we’ll see what the vet thinks.
The upcoming holidays would be a good time since we’d be home as they got used to each other, but we’ll see.