Accepting Impermanence

Cats are funny sometimes- one minute they're nuzzling against you with absolute affection, purring softly while they gladly receive your love, and the next minute they're charging through 8 inches of snow into the neighbor's yard without looking back.

Our littlest cat 'Midget' took off through the snow last night and disappeared into our southern neighbor's yard. After my husband and I called for an hour, we figured she had her own agenda and we went to bed. First thing this morning I went to the backyard to call her again, and again while we shoveled the drive, and yet again throughout the afternoon. I finally took a walk around our block, calling and carrying a fresh-boiled shrimp in my pocket to coax her, but all to no avail. As dusk fell this evening, I began to begin the familiar process of letting go, as I've done in the past with other felines who have simply decided their time with us was, for whatever reason, complete.

And, as I've also done in the past, I've spent a little time grieving, a little time crying, and some time considering what I could have done to change her mind. Some might say it is my fault for allowing our 'kids' to go outside at all, but I do not believe they are my property, and keeping them from the outdoors would break their spirits and lessen their quality of life. I am grateful each morning when I open the back door to see them on the steps, waiting to come in. And although Midget's absence still stings terribly, I like to think I am getting better at this practice of letting go. I may not understand impermanence, or why it is necessary, but I can acknowledge its place in the world, and choose to accept it.