let sleeping cats lie
grief creeps up on you when you least expect it: an essay
i.
Last night I sobbed over the legalisation of a drug that cures the very same sickness that claimed my cat. A cat that I owned for a mere 4 months. A cat that died 3 years ago.
In the moments after his death, I finally understood Schrödinger’s cat theory. Seconds after they took his cotton wrapped body to be laid to rest, I couldn’t help but turn away. Perhaps if I didn’t look, he may still be there. I have the tendency to do that a lot. Avoiding things I do not want to face.
As a child, I hid under the blankets after watching a horror film I begged my parents for. I was convinced that what I could not see can't hurt me. A childish thought, yes, but I was a child. Yet in moments of fear, I find that I haven’t really grown up at all. I look out the window of the car when I argue with my partner; and I keep my gaze focused on an inanimate object when my family’s conversations turn sour; and I stare at my fingers when strangers cry. I hide my gaze from everyone and everything, because if I don’t, I fear they might know me. After all, eyes are the windows to our souls, right?
ii.
I’ve been thinking about numbers a lot as of late. 555. 1.02am. 2024. 2021. When they’re written and laid out like that they lack meaning. I suppose it’s true that words are just words and numbers are just numbers until we give them meaning.
Angel numbers never meant much to me. I tell people they are a sign from the universe but truthfully it is mostly my spirituality induced psychosis speaking. I tend to do that a lot as well. Act more spiritual than I am. As though holistic living could cure me of the cruel heart I inherited. As though it says: why, of course you can trust me, do you not see the selenite I wear around my neck? I don’t know if that makes me a liar. I don’t know if that makes me wicked. I don’t remember what it is to not be wicked. A therapist that I ghosted after 2 sessions told me I have a habit of painting myself out to be much worse than I am. Perhaps I have a tendency for that too.
Last night, after tearfully claiming I wasn’t a good mother to Sky, my phone lit up with a notification. My fingers unconsciously went to turn the glaring distraction off before my eyes caught the time. 5.55am. It felt like a sign. I think I wanted it to be a sign. I hurriedly googled the meaning of angel number 555, hoping the result would be a highly specific answer to my situation: your cat will rise from the dead and return to you. Yet to my dismay it wrote: change, transformation, personal growth. Realistically, I know a Pet Sematary situation is not scientifically possible, but it felt like the universe was taunting me. Almost as if they were saying “it’s been 3 years, get a grip.” Though, that may be the spirituality induced psychosis speaking again.
iii.
Guilt is a funny feeling. It is neither anger nor sadness, yet somehow, it is both. I imagine Guilt similarly to how I imagine God. An omniscient entity that you only turn to when you beg for salvation. I don’t think of Guilt often. I don’t think of God often either. I do think of salvation often. Can I tell you a secret? I’m not even a Christian. Though you wouldn’t be able to tell with the way I utilise cathedrals as an ostentatious backdrop for when I write about the sufferings of the world. I have a penchant for that as well. Being ambiguous about my religion. Religion is ambiguous though, is it not? In Islam, we believe in tawba, or the act of repenting. However, tawba doesn’t have the same ring to it, unlike salvation, don’t you think?
Salvation refers to the preservation of harm, whilst tawba implies that harm has already been done. I think that’s why I gravitate towards salvation more. The idea that I could be protected from all the pain in the world if I were a good believer. Perhaps if I begged more viciously, I could be spared from the anguish that is Guilt. Perhaps if I were a better follower, Sky would have been spared from death.
It is said that greed is the only god humans worship. I think Guilt may be mine. Thus, this piece is my form of an offering for the gods.
Maybe that’s all it takes.