Today marks three years since I buried one of my best friends. He never asked for a whole lot; mostly he just wanted my companionship. He even waited for me during my time in Kosovo. About all I ever had to do was to remember to feed him and change his litter box.
Makis was 15 when he passed on, and I hope that he received a well-deserved pass straight to kitty heaven. He'd been with me since he was 4 weeks old, and he moved cross-country with me on three occasions. He'd outlasted every relationship I'd had, and no matter what happened to me, he was always there, wondering when he could go to sleep in my lap. Through all the upheavals, he tolerated everything with an astonishing aplomb and dignity. In the final analysis, all he'd ever really wanted was to be able to curl up in my lap.
As I'm writing this, Einar, the Designated Makis Replacement Unit, is luxuriating in the sunshine next to my laptop on the kitchen table. He came along at the perfect time, on July 4th, just six months after Makis died. We've bonded like Velcro, but it's different, and I'm grateful for that. The companionship is wonderful, but I haven't had to worry about replacing someone who couldn't be replaced.
Makis is buried on the lakeshore in our backyard, and I tend to his grave when I'm mowing the lawn. It's become a plaything for cats and squirrels, and I've come to enjoy that. I no longer cry for him, because I've come to accept that that part of my life is gone. I do miss him, though. I think he would have liked the life I've found here.
Schlaf gut, meine freund....
