If you were to be Alexa for a day in our house, you’d start the morning getting super yelled at when you can’t find requests (POW-LOW-CON-TAY) and you’d be unceremoniously unplugged when you chimed in with unhelpful suggestions.
If you’re an Alexa that’s inclined to eavesdrop you’d hear a lot of conversation about food, the business of food, and preparation techniques of food, the likes and dislikes of food.
You’d also soon come to realize that we fall into the same conversations everyday.
Erik: What do you want to eat for a meal?
Adrianne: (stalls by asking a question) What do we have?
Erik: (Armed with information, rattles off a stock list)
Adrianne: What’s in the freezer?
Erik: (Lists off freezer items)
Adrianne: I don’t know.
Our conversation with the cats doesn’t deviate much.
Human: You want out?
Cat: Meow. Meow.
Human: Do you want wet food?
In the quietest moments, you will hear, “Hey Silas.”
Silas, and her fluffy Norwegian Forest cat tail, is everywhere. Her purr, outsized and instant, midnight air tremor. At afternoon snack time, she’s curled up in the corner next to the refrigerator. Any awkward corner becomes a wedge of Wedgie (the fond moniker for the Norwegian Forest Cat.)
Silas willed herself into our life and the nooks that needed her most. Just her presence – all fluffy and full of little hops – rounds out the sharpness of the day.
For a while there, whenever Vie cried, Silas would come out of nowhere and jump on her head – claws in flesh – to stop the noise. The result was the antithesis of the desired outcome, but it certainly changed why Vie was crying. Afterall, when you’re three, it’s nice to have a solid reason to justify your mood.
The two old cats – The Boys – both fell for Silas and her playful sweetness.
Now, we each have the same conversation at different points of the day. Adelaide with her high, pure voice. Erik mutters it in the soft, predawn light. I can’t help but find myself calling for her out toward the brambles where I last found her – a brick red tire track stamped on her abdomen.
So while it has been 3 weeks since Silas has died, we have not stopped living with her. We have not stopped loving her. We have not stopped being inspired to change the mood of the conversation to something a little lighter. But post Silas life feels… not the same.
She made us shine.