puff of stories

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Puff is my ex’s cat. A big orange male. Short haired. Good with kids. He was actually the family cat when my ex and his sister were young. So I never met him, but heard stories and saw pictures.

How he would put up with my ex’s sister lifting him up, even though she was a toddler and he was a large cat so she barely could. And put up with her playing doll with him and dressing him up, and washing out his armpits when it was hot.

Keeping watch in the back yard, even in bad weather, against the neighbor cat. My ex put up a little structure so he’d have a roof over his head.

And the one I perhaps most enjoyed, Puff taking the baby Jesus out of the nativity scene at the holidays and hiding it.

Seeing this card at the print shop, and the ongoing search for Jesus there made me think of all this. And how, even though we split up and I haven’t had any contact with my ex or his family for several years now, these stories are still part of my life. Of course it’s not quite the same, since they don’t really come up, and if I do talk about them it’s not with the people whose stories they actually are.

That’s one of the things, when a relationship ends, the loss of the shared history. Not that it goes away, but it’s not there in the same way. You don’t have that person that you can say a single word to in a certain tone of voice and they know a whole story.

On the other hand, I’m not sure that we’re meant to remember everything. The unpleasantness at the end, I know I would like to forget all of that. Sometimes you have to let certain things go to make room for others.

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