Heart of Stone Meets Junebug the Wonder Kitty

OK, so as many of you know I lost a Granny a month+ ago. She was a good Granny -- a great one in fact. Oh heck, I'll say it: she was the very bestest Granny that ever was, and I know this because so many people for whom she wasn't actually a Granny still claimed her as their own. And when I say I lost her I don't mean "hey, has anyone seen Granny? I put her down right here to go get a pen but when I came back she wasn't here?" I mean the kind where she's mourned by folks and people find it sad and someday we'll get a container of ashes from the medical people and have to decide where she'd want to be sprinkled.

We had a little family memorial on Mother's Day weekend and at that event many people cried. Some really let those waterworks flow, and some got teary but subtley and some barely cried but if they tried to talk you could hear their voice get crackly. One of the folks in that final category was my Dad - son of Granny. My Dad is like most Dads -- he doesn't cry. Like never. I think I've heard him get crackly twice ever before, and I've known him a long time! So I make note of when his voice cracks and it cracked that day. But I didn't cry.

We had a much bigger, official memorial for her a couple of weeks ago and people came from far and wide. There were eloquent speaches and readings and people sharing memories and the crowd was packed with smiling faces that were soaked. We had this cool slideshow running on a laptop with 100 shots from throughout Granny's life which also sent people colliding from laughter to tears and back again. Dad made it through almost all of his amazing Eulogy/tribute without crackling, though his one tiny break towards the end broke down many of the tear-walls of the folks listening. The Queen set a new rule, effective immediately -- nobody else dies as long as she's pregnant! I didn't cry.

Don't get me wrong, because I do miss Granny tons and tons. I just am not sad at her passing. Granny, she was super-old (and kudos to her for that!), she had an amazing life and at the end it all was so very terrible that her passing was a huge relief to everyone, including her. But it's more then that. It's also that I just don't cry. As a rule I just don't cry. The people who've seen me puddle up, let alone really let loose, number on 2 hands I think. It's not that I'm opposed to crying, but I just don't do it. Hence the nickname Heart of Stone. It's just one of my things. The one big exception: critters. I love me critters! Cats, dogs, rodents, bugs, reptiles, you name it and I love 'em. I'm one of these people who would have a house full of animals if it weren't for the fact that those people are pretty much always crazy. The spot in my heart that is the softest is the one for critters and the like. And so enter Junebug.

Junebug is this stray cat that adopted our office here about a week ago. She's a long-haired kitty (which normally I'm not as in to) and at least some siamese (also not my breed of preference) and her big, blue eyes are ever so slightly crossed. And she's lovely and friendly and a talker and oh so sweet that I've lost a filling and two crowns since she arrived. Once it became clear that she was someone's pet who was someone's pet no more (I can only hope that they died, because otherwise they just abandoned her and they, therefore, sucksucksucksuckSUCKsuckSUCKITYSUCKSUCK!!!) I fed her and gave her water and I've been trying to find her a home.

And I've been crying.

It just breaks my heart when these little balls of love and devotion and affection are completely abandoned by those they put their faith in! And they can't ever understand that they were just unfortunate enough to put their faith in bad people -- they just know that they're lost and nobody is loving them anymore. Even though they loved unconditionally, as only the animal kingdome really can. Every day when I get into my car and leave her sitting at the back door, watching me leave her again, it breaks my heart all over again.

Who knows, maybe this is the universe giving me something to feel about just in case there's left over Granny stuff that I'm bottling. I don't feel like I'm bottling about Granny, and I'm not a person who believes in God per se. But I like how the universe sometimes comes along and slips in things that you need because we big, dumb people all too often get in our own way. So if this is Granny giving me something to invest in so that I can do whatever other mourning I need to do that's ok with me. I know that Granny would have loved and worked for this kitty just like I am. She was classy like that too.

Anybody want a sweet kitty?

EDITED AT 3:45pm TO ADD:

Junebug has a home! A woman from an office upstairs just coaxed her into a cat carrier and took her home to love her and squeeze her and call her..., well, probably not George, but probably not Junebug either. Let's hear it for happy endings, people!!