How Maya is Grieving

 

Maya Angelou Murphy

A number of people have asked how Maya and Jenny the Cat have been doing since Thomas left us. Both feel his absence, for sure, and I have no doubt that they sense my sadness as well. Consequently, Jenny has slept with me every night since our last day with him. I believe cats sense when humans are ill, and she interprets my sadness as a state of being unwell. (Purrl, before her, could also sense when I was physically ill or deeply sad, and she would crawl under the covers in those times and place her body against mine, purring as a mother cat would do with kittens—even though Purrl never had any of her own.)

Maya is another story altogether. Thomas, it seems, was her assumed body guard. When Thom could still go for walks, I would sometimes walk them together around the block, and Maya would actually be happy and excited on the leash. (In case you’re unaware, unless we’re hiking, Maya hates going for walks—because it’s just “too peoply” out there.) In the morning, with Thomas here, Maya would run into and through the kitchen, then tear through the living room, looking for things to play with, hopping and wagging her tail and barking if I didn’t get her breakfast ready fast enough. It was hilarious and entertaining every morning.

At the time of this writing, Thomas has been gone for two weeks and two days, and for two weeks and two days, Maya has gone right back to the safety of her bed after we come back in from the back yard. No running through the house. No hopping. No playing. She looks for him in the kitchen, and when she sees he isn’t there, she simply retreats to the den and curls up again.

This makes me very, very sad for her. She had come so far, but seems to be withdrawing again. I’m giving her extra love, of course, and simply going to sit with her often. But she has lost her rock, her anchor. (It’s probably a good thing she doesn’t realize that looking to Thomas for protection would be like Dorothy looking to the Cowardly Lion to do the same.)

As some of you know, months before I lost Thom, I had begun looking for a dog companion for Maya, a confident dog that would help her continue to recover and make her feel safe on walks, perhaps draw her out to interact with me more. And I wanted to get a new dog settled into my pack before Thomas left us, so that his passing would be easier on Maya. Alas, that did not happen. But, to that end….

<Spoiler alert: Big Announcement ahead>

On Friday, I adopted a dog. Before you go thinking that I rushed out to my nearest shelter and impulsively grabbed a sweet dog to comfort me in my grief, let me assure you it did not happen that way. Like, at all. This dog’s story—and I do know the entire back story—is so complex and complicated that names will be changed to keep the guilty from being publicly shamed, and I won’t even be able to share all of it here. But in my next post, I’ll give you an update on my new little girl, Stevie (not her original name), and I’ll tell you as much as I can. (If you want the full story after that, you’ll have to call me and be sworn to lifelong secrecy.)

For now, I can tell you this: Despite everything that has happened to her in recent weeks, Stevie is filled with joy and enthusiasm. Her tail never stops wagging. She loves everyone she meets—people, dogs (cats, I hope). She’s got sass and spirit (thus her name; that’s “Stevie” from Schitt’s Creek, not Stevie Nicks, though she would do for a namesake, too).

That’s all I know for now because she isn’t even home yet. She’s still in dog jail. I can’t pick her up until her spay surgery, and that can’t happen until Tuesday because of the holiday. Oh my dragons! Hasn’t this dog endured enough?? But wait—you don’t know that part of the story yet. More to come, but let me conclude by sharing one more thing.

You may be thinking that I’m all excited about bringing a new dog home. The truth is, I am 20% excited and 80% terrified. New situations and changes in routine are very difficult for me, to say the least. I function much better when things are the same, day after day—calm, steady, predictable. This is part of my mental health journey, and though I am aware of it, that doesn’t make new situations any easier. I know. You’re thinking, “New dog! Yay!” and I’m over here wringing my hands and worrying about whether my new girl will chase Jenny or pee on the carpeting or somehow (heaven help us) escape the yard. But I felt exactly this way when I brought Maya home. Well, no, with Maya I was 10% excited, 90% terrified. OK, maybe 5% excited. Really. Same with Thomas. And look what became of that.

So if you call to get the whole scoop on Stevie and I sound flustered, just reassure me that the sun will rise the next day, Jenny will come out from under the bed eventually, and Stevie will add another dimension of joy to this home that has been far too quiet without the tip-tapping of Thomas’s feet on the floor. Stay tuned. Here we go…. And may the New Year bring a new dimension of joy to your life as well (preferably a rescue dog, but that’s just my own bias speaking).