Angel Mitts

Are there discounts on grief when you bundle?

Kara came with a pair of cats. Cosmo, a large orange tabby also known as “Fahtorange,” “Fatty.” or “the Fatness.” My apologies - it was a different time. And Lela, a mackerel tabby named after the Cyclops character on the animated series Futurama, due to the fact that as a result of abuse earlier in her life, Lela (the cat) had one functioning eye. She was also known as the “Nook Dragon” and “Angel Mitts,” as dubbed by yours truly.

Both cats won me over pretty quickly, but I fell for Lela in a pet-owner fashion damn near as hard and fast as I did for Kara. The formerly feral cat was one of the sweetest, most loving creatures on the planet. She was a cat that possessed no off-putting habits or tendencies. Everything she did was precious and came from a place of pure love. Thus, my Angel Mitts, straight from heaven.

One particular evening a handful of months into our relationship, Kara was taking a shower and I was in the living room sitting on the sofa and listening to music. Post-shower, she walked in on me singing along with the Bangles’ “Eternal Flame” on Spotify. I also happened to be gently petting a supine, lap-engulfed Angel Mitts while engaged in unbroken human/feline eye contact. Kara erupted into hysterical laughter - performed an admirable if not slightly rushed military-grade about-face, and retreated back to the bedroom, filling the hallway with a cacophonous cackle for the length of the journey. 

I was almost embarrassed. Angel Mitts was unphased, almost dismissive. And Kara would never let it go for the rest of her days. She used to joke that she wasn’t entirely sure which one of them was technically the side chick in this setup.

Lela was my all-time favorite pet and it wasn’t even close. I would occasionally tell Kara that when Lela did pass on, I would probably be an inconsolable wreck for weeks if not months. A statement I made without hyperbole. Hell, I used to mist up just thinking about life without that cat.

Here’s what’s strange. In the year plus since their passing, I haven’t shed a single tear for just Lela. I’m sure that in some way she’s a component of my regular all-encompassing sob fests. But not once yet have I had a single cry just thinking of or remembering that cat, and I don’t know what to make of that. Am I still so consumed with grief for Kara and the loss of my former life, that I simply don’t have the bandwidth for the cat yet? 

Perhaps because this whole thing is so overwhelming, Angel Mitts just got absorbed into my generalized grieving. Or do I get the pleasure of screaming myself awake a year from now to mackerel tabby-generated night terrors? Time will tell, but I hope not. My sincere wish is that the powers that be occasionally offer discounts on grief when you bundle.