Even though they've been gone for several months, I keep seeing black cats. A pouring rainstorm brings the fleeting thought: I've got to get them inside. A pair of jeans tossed on the white bedspread in a dark room brings irritation: She's sleeping on the bed again. A marauding tom cat in the middle of the night makes me worry about the big tom: Hope he's close to the house. An old coupon for cat food reminds me: Gotta stock up.
Their elusive presence is surprising. But, even in their elderly, sick, last days, they were out of sight as much as front and center. They were not ever-present. In short, they were independent cats. These nano-second reminders are the way it was when they were alive. They would suddenly appear after an absence spent under the bed or across the street. They would pretend that we were the center of their world for those few moments it took them to convince us to feed them. Then they would disappear again.
So even though they don't personally appear any more, our minds are conditioned to have them pop up unexpectedly. That's the cat way.
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