1:24 AM >> Goodbye, Figaro

We had to put one of our cats to sleep the other day. He was 16 and a half. He was named Figaro and he ruled. I still cry at least once a day thinking about him. We haven't put away his little water dish yet because every time I look at it, I imagine him drinking from it, and I look to see him crawling around, and he isn't there, and he never will be ever again. And then usually the tears come. He used to talk to us, saying hello and what's up, man and hello! are you going to pet me or what but I will never hear his voice again and I don't think the finalness of that has truly settled into my brain.

I look at the TV he sat on and expect him to be there, and he isn't. I see cans of open cat food in the fridge, and I don't want to throw them away because I want to use the rest of the food. I pet our other cat and feel bad that Figaro's love is now going to Sphinx. I had to call the crematorium to make arrangements for Figaro's remains, and it was such a business transaction that I hung up the phone with tears in my eyes again and every time I see his picture I just miss that cat so much because I loved him so much even though I only knew him for three or four years but I could tell he actually loved me back and knew I was his dad even though we had not known each other as long as he and his mom had. He was so smart and wise and fun and funny and sometime he would bite you but you still loved him.

Last night I had a dream that I was writing about this but we had Figaro's [lifeless] body in the house with us and for some reason I had to write in a journal right next to him and then somehow M (my wife who had been with Figaro since she was 8 years old) touched him and he came back to life but I was really confused how that happened. (Before that I could barely write because in my dream I was crying.)

In between the sadness and tears, this has all gotten me thinking: if there is anything more after death, which I believe there is not, it would not be some sort of heaven where our souls go to hang out; it would be a form of reincarnation. Nature is totally cyclical; even poop makes the best fertilizer. Nothing is wasted; everything is used and reused in an endless loop. So why would souls/life not be the same?