The ‘death chord’ buzzing in the house seems to have stopped. It was bad all the night he died, and all the next day, but when I got up the following morning, it was gone. Mum thinks the throbbing is due to wind, getting in the roof or thrumming on some pipes somewhere, but it was still before and has got gusty just now – after the noise stopped. Or maybe I feel more aware of it at some times than others. It made things difficult for me… at first I didn’t know if Thor had really gone, and was feeling for a heartbeat – I kept thinking I felt him purr, then realized it was the house, which was vibrating up through the floor, through the sofa, through Thor, through me, through everything. Perhaps that’s when it started to bother me.
I so much wanted him to stir and look up with a weak smile – ‘hey, I pulled through and feel a bit better now.’ I kept looking at him, and he was always lying just how I left him, very still, his ears pricked.
The cats started to look at him too, very worried. Every time I stroked him, they purred hopefully – “have you made him better yet? Did he talk to you?” I shut the door and left him there, with us outside, but we could still stand and look at him through the glass. I did that a lot, and I noticed the cats sat on their bed and looked at him too. And now I hate having that door closed. I stand and look in, and the sofa is empty – but in my mind I’m back there in the darkest part of night, with the lamp shining softly, all the curtains closed, the gas fire on low and warm… and Thor, lying under a fleecy rug with his face and paws still showing. Now if the door is shut, I feel it’s standing between me and him. So I open it, and still can’t reach him, and that’s always when I start crying again.
I couldn’t wait for the daylight to come – I got angry because the sun wasn’t rising and everybody else was still in bed. As soon as I saw a hint of light in the sky, I threw all the curtains wide, pulled up the blinds, opened a window, turned off the lamp next to Thor. I felt as though I was setting us all free by welcoming in the day as much as possible. With the curtains closed and the lamp still on, we had been closed together in a private bubble of pain.