Roy M. Griffis

And they keep changing

I was going to write a quick note about having to change my desk layout to accommodate Babykat.  She has taken to sitting on my keyboard tray, basically with her head on my left hand as I type (new aliment:  cat-induced carpal tunnel).  Which means I’ve had to shift my work space to the right a little to make room for her.

But then I realized I’d also need to provide some context for this new behavior.  

You see, our older cat, Felix (final photo of him below) died suddenly and peacefully just before Thanksgiving.  He was nearly 20 years, well-loved by everyone.  

Babykat spent her whole life with him (and me and our family).  Simple answer for her new sleeping place is: she’s lonely. 

I was going to write a post about his death and what it meant to me and our family, but didn’t have the time.  

Life kept on happening.  I was working hard on finishing one novel and starting a new series after that.  My wife was having a complete knee replacement, and all the other kinds of stuff that we all deal with every day.

My oldest friend friend, guy I’ve known since High School in the last century, is dying from bone cancer.   I have no idea how long he’ll be with us.  And then I saw a notice that another classmate died from ALS on New Year’s Eve. 

I was thinking I should just keep the damn yearbook by my desk so I can refresh my memory on those who have departed.  

These days, in some ways, it feels like bits of my past are being whittled away, with bigger chunks being taken with each new stroke of the blade.

So, my profound New Year’s post is this:  things keep on changing. 

All we can do is be better than we were. Be kinder, be gentler, be more loving, be more noble, and be more honest, especially with ourselves.  And remember to be grateful for what we have, even if it is only gratitude for the gifts that came by sharing time with those that are now gone.

We will see them again.  I believe this strongly.  Because Love never dies, friends.