We picked up Binky’s ashes on Saturday. It was sunny, and we brought Abbie in the car with us. The first few times we had to bring Binky to his oncologist, he’d meow the whole time, he’d be agitated, etc. Not surprising. Car rides are scary. Car rides lead to needles and blood draws, etc.
So we actually want to get Abbie used to riding in the car without going to the vet. Or at least without going INTO the vet. She was nervous on the way there, but by the time we got home, she was just curious about everything going on around her.
If only we could do that with Wingnut. He has way too much PTSD from his surgeries to ever be comfortable in the car.
But back to Binky. He’s home now. In a beautiful cedar box with his name engraved on it. For now, he’s sitting on our mantle.
The house feels better now. Not good. Not like it was. It’ll never be what it was. But at least a little better.
The box is screwed shut. I’m not sure why this bothers me. I don’t want to see his ashes. And I definitely don’t want anything to happen to…spill them. I’m clumsy on my best day. And Abbie and Wingnut regularly get underfoot. They’re cats. That’s what they do. But it still bothers me in an odd, unexpected way. One I’m not willing—or able—to unpack (pun definitely NOT intended) right now.
In the next week or so, we’re going to get some remembrance items made for Binky. Glass-infused with a small bit of his ashes. We’ll put one piece in the backyard so Binky gets to be outside every single day.
I’m just glad he’s home.