![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Jun. 16th, 2012
Me: Somewhere on earth, Mom, the reincarnation of Richard Nixon is being born yet again to some unsuspecting household's pet.
Mom: Oh, no. Those poor people.
I asked Mom last week about how much property damage she thought Nixon'd done over the years. Mom said promptly, "Oh, at least $8,000." Apparently she'd calculated this up at some point. Nixon was an unusually destructive cat; she ruined carpets, cabinets, chairs, and doors.
I haven't slept much the last few days, so I keep seeing the other tabby and briefly thinking that it's her and it was all some sort of mistake. Earlier, I was trying to remember the house without her, and realized that I couldn't. She was born almost immediately after the newer 2/3 was built onto it, when I was in third grade. So Mom and Dad's bedroom had only existed for a few months when she was born in it. Ursula LeGuin says that a cat is the house's soul; I guess she really was.
(This may help to explain the termites, moisture issues, and other problems that she couldn't have caused directly.)
(See, there I went again.)
Because I am useless for anything other than brooding about her at the moment, I'm going through all my and Dad's old photos for the ones of her. She looks so fat and sleek in the older ones. I can't imagine how people mourned before Flickr albums.
Thank you to everyone who's commented.
Mom: Oh, no. Those poor people.
I asked Mom last week about how much property damage she thought Nixon'd done over the years. Mom said promptly, "Oh, at least $8,000." Apparently she'd calculated this up at some point. Nixon was an unusually destructive cat; she ruined carpets, cabinets, chairs, and doors.
I haven't slept much the last few days, so I keep seeing the other tabby and briefly thinking that it's her and it was all some sort of mistake. Earlier, I was trying to remember the house without her, and realized that I couldn't. She was born almost immediately after the newer 2/3 was built onto it, when I was in third grade. So Mom and Dad's bedroom had only existed for a few months when she was born in it. Ursula LeGuin says that a cat is the house's soul; I guess she really was.
(This may help to explain the termites, moisture issues, and other problems that she couldn't have caused directly.)
(See, there I went again.)
Because I am useless for anything other than brooding about her at the moment, I'm going through all my and Dad's old photos for the ones of her. She looks so fat and sleek in the older ones. I can't imagine how people mourned before Flickr albums.
Thank you to everyone who's commented.
