Breaking the Mold

He was my constant companion. He saw me safely through a lot of dispairing nights.

He died in his sleep, stretched out in a favorite patch of sunlight.

I was happy that he had spent his last day being loved.
I was happy that I had known him.
I knew that he had loved me.

And a 9 pound giant brought me to tears.
Not for him, but for me.
I would never again feel him walk across my chest in the darkness.
I would never again feel his weight on my shoulder as I walked though the house.

In time, a buff colored tiger joined the household.
I tried to settle him on my chest as I laid in bed. He jumped off, preferring to sleep close by.
I tried to perch him on my shoulder as I walked. He would have none of that, preferring to walk behind me, batting at my feet.

He is different from my old friend in so many ways.
But I love him.

I tried to fit him into the mold of my old friend, but he wouldn't conform. He is his own cat, and deserves to be treated as such. He demands to be loved on his merits, not as a tribute to a fallen companion.

I recognize this.

Yet I have tried and failed to fit women who deserved to be loved on their own merits into the mold of a fallen companion.

I have assigned traits of women who had betrayed me to women who never displayed them.

They would have none of it, and I couldn't understand why.

I am beginning to understand.