Our purrents say we're a houseful of therapy cats, which is a good thing! Having Tabby in our family has taught us all to be mindful of our purrents' emotions and behaviors, so when they first heard the news, we all offered ourselves to be petted and to purr for them. Grandpa (Mommy's dad, who was divorced from Grandma ages ago) came over and immediately got three lap-sitters! We've all been extremely snuggly and attentive to Mommy and Daddy and social with other people who have come by to offer help and condolences.
Heimdall was the closest to Grandma, and became her "furry doctor". He would sneak into her room to do his rounds, walking under the desk, then around to check out underneath the hospital bed, then walk to the far wall and look up at her when she was lying in bed. Then, most of the time, he'd go under the rocking chair and have to be caught to be taken out of the room. If Grandma was in the rocking chair, he'd go over to her for pets. None of us could be on Grandma's lap, because she had cancer and so her immune system was compromised by the chemo and radiation. After she died, Heimdall went in to do his rounds and was very concerned when he didn't see her on the bed. He hopped up onto the bed and immediately shrunk because he could tell she hadn't been there for a week. She had been in the hospital for a few days before she died, so by the time Heimdall went into her room it had been almost two weeks since she'd last slept in her bed. Heimdall immediately let Mommy pick him up and snuggle him, then Freya came over to lick him on the head when he was set in the hallway. He still pulls on Grandma's door at least twice a day, hoping that she'll reappear.
Tabby is the only one of us who knew that humans could die. She'd encountered death smells and "not there" smells, as well as ministered to dying friends on her visits, so she's been trying to help the rest of us through this. However, without direct experience, it's hard for us to visualize one of our people being "not there". It's a different "not there" than when fosters have been adopted. This "not there" leaves an empty place that's sad, instead of a happy-sad one, and we don't like it.
Mommy let us smell the death smells on Grandma's things when they were retrieved from the hospital, but that only helped a little. Human death smells, while similar, are still different enough from kitty death smells that we don't know if what we smelled really was a death smell. Our purrents say it was, but we can't be sure. All we know is that our third purrson is missing from our lives.
July 20, 1948 to
August 8, 2014