It’s ringing. It’s Marie-Pier, my ex and my great friend: “Hi! I brought you your Christmas present! In her arms is a cat. Or rather a cat. Very small. Barely three months. Marie-Pier gives it to me. I smile. She is pretty. With her big eyes wondering “where am I?” “, ” who is he ? »
Becaud, you know, my companion of the last 16 years, is dead. Many friends have said to me, “You should adopt another cat. It didn’t appeal to me. I was not there. Becaud was Becaud. I couldn’t see myself replacing it at full speed, like replacing a refrigerator or a dishwasher. By necessity. We’ll see. We’ll see, if life comes to that. It took me a sign. An orchestrated coincidence. I got it.
” Are you happy ? You do not have to. If you don’t want it, I keep it with me. »
I smile again. It is certain that she will not leave here, since life wants it that way. If there are cats in this house, it’s because of Marie-Pier. She wanted it. I had nothing against it. On the contrary. I like felines. We had Fétiche, with my parents, for 20 years. But to go in front of an animal, it takes momentum. It was Marie-Pier who had it. And she’s the one who still has it, you have to believe. Even if we are no longer together. I’m touched. This cat is the symbol of our bond which continues. Despite the distance. Breaking up doesn’t always mean breaking away. Sometimes, over time, it’s loving yourself differently. Even after breaking, there are still small bits still stuck.
The cat already has a medal on her neck. Her name is Binette. The name of Becaud’s mother. Everything is in everything. The cycle of life, as the Lion King says.
I’ve been looking for my Christmas present for a week. Since she arrived, Binette has lived in hiding. I turn the house upside down, but I can’t find it. Must say that the house is not so small, and she is very, very much. She enters the smallest hole. A lining of la-z-boya corner of the basement, the underside of a sofa, the back of a piece of furniture.
I bought toys to try to tame it. The fishing rod with a pink feather at the end is the most successful. She can run after it for half an hour. But as soon as I stop activating it, Hoe goes back to hiding. So we have play sessions, morning and evening. Between the two, she disappears. Maybe she telecommutes, who knows?
When she comes back, she talks to me a little. Not strong. His meows sound like the creaking of a faulty shopping cart wheel. I think she’s telling me she’s starting to like it, being here. I tell her I’m glad she’s there.
Binette has been living with me for a month now. She does not leave me more than a step or a finger. So much so that I had to type that last sentence twice, because his paws erased it, strumming on my keyboard. Juror spat. It purrs like a small airplane engine. A plane that does not take off, but sticks in my arms. It is included in all activities: lunches, suppers, Zoom, and tries to catch the puck during hockey games. In short, soon, it will no longer be mine, it will be hers. I even believe it already is.
And Bécaud, in all this? Yes, I know, you could say, quickly forgotten. But it’s not that. No way.
The memory of someone does not prevent the presence of someone else. And vice versa. Even that predisposes it. I love cats even more because of Bécaud, so good for Binette.
Binette does not replace Becaud. Hoe takes his place. And more and more, day by day. As life always does, postponing the end.
Thank you, Marie-Pier, for the beautiful gift.
And you, Hoe, let me put a full stop.