Gizmo was returned to me today. Here he is. Picking up a box from the vets when you normally pick up your animal is one of the saddest things about having them. As I opened the box I cried, asking the world, is this all he is? Just a bag of dust? Sometimes it just doesn’t seem real. How can my once, full of life cat, be reduced to this box? A box that doesn’t make miaowing noises for seemingly no reason, weird squeaky noises when hungry, and thundering noises as it scales a cat tree. Just a silent, soul-less box.
This makes me think of legacy. Gizmo has come and gone with the world hardly noticing. As I sat with a fellow lover of Gizmo earlier, we talked about how we had so few people to talk to about him. To remember the various things he did and his many quirks. To us he took up such a large space in our lives. To the rest of the world, he was the dust he is now.
As part of his life recognition that I am working on, I have a notebook in which to record as much as I can remember of him. It will only mean something to a handful of people. To anyone else, it will just be a book of memories of a cat that once existed. Such a strange thought.
Welcome back home, remnants of Gizmo. You have been one expensive bag of dust <3