I took the day off from work yesterday. I'm going in today and I hope to have time afterward for a ride (besides my regular commute), however short. I think it's the best way to deal with my feelings about Max.
He's not the first cat I've lost. But he has experienced so much with me. To be more exact, he was a sweet, loving presence through both the joys and the trials of the past ten and a half years.
Max was at the door when I came home from a couple thousand days of work, a few hundred bike rides, trips to see my parents in Florida, trips to see my friends in France and other trips to Italy and the Czech Republic--and to Colorado, for my surgery. He was with me during some difficult times, when people who said they would "always be there" for me changed their minds, and when a beau revealed his true, abusive, colors--and nearly destroyed my life.
Most important of all--at least to me--he was with me as I was re-defining myself as a person, and a cyclist. He didn't care whether I raced or if a 150 kilometer ride took half an hour, then an hour, longer than it did when I was in my twenties, thirties or even early 40s. He didn't even care when I had a "bad hair day": something that was never a concern of mine when I was younger.
I had long heard that orange cats were the friendliest. Max certainly lived up to that. He was all love, all the time. And when he wasn't basking in someone's affection, he was doing the other thing he did best:
A friend of mine, Michiko, called him "The Zen Cat." Now you know why. Maybe I should remember his calm affection today, as I ride to work and, hopefully, somewhere--even if it's just a park near work--afterward.
He's not the first cat I've lost. But he has experienced so much with me. To be more exact, he was a sweet, loving presence through both the joys and the trials of the past ten and a half years.
Max was at the door when I came home from a couple thousand days of work, a few hundred bike rides, trips to see my parents in Florida, trips to see my friends in France and other trips to Italy and the Czech Republic--and to Colorado, for my surgery. He was with me during some difficult times, when people who said they would "always be there" for me changed their minds, and when a beau revealed his true, abusive, colors--and nearly destroyed my life.
Most important of all--at least to me--he was with me as I was re-defining myself as a person, and a cyclist. He didn't care whether I raced or if a 150 kilometer ride took half an hour, then an hour, longer than it did when I was in my twenties, thirties or even early 40s. He didn't even care when I had a "bad hair day": something that was never a concern of mine when I was younger.
I had long heard that orange cats were the friendliest. Max certainly lived up to that. He was all love, all the time. And when he wasn't basking in someone's affection, he was doing the other thing he did best:
A friend of mine, Michiko, called him "The Zen Cat." Now you know why. Maybe I should remember his calm affection today, as I ride to work and, hopefully, somewhere--even if it's just a park near work--afterward.