But I REALLY have to go!

Another day in a fog, still suffering the loss of my dear cat. The house is so empty and quiet, and reminds me with every glance that Arizona is not here. I haven’t got round to all the cleaning yet. His bowls are washed and put away, his littler box is cleaned, but there is nowhere to put it but where it has always sat, so it still sits there, unused.

All the corners where he used to curl up, especially on the couch, next to me, as I typed on my lap top, practically holler at me that Arizona is gone. It feels like an assault that comes in wave after wave.

I went to the yard later than usual, and I did find some relief there. Max had his comedy hat on and was playful, but a bit rough. I stopped him and told him that I was very happy to see him, but very sad at heart. “Shall I tell you a story of an old tabby cat?” I asked him.

For whatever reason, whether Max picked up the vibe I know not, he “gentled down” and became quite still and soft with me.

I spent a long time grooming him, just loving the feel and smell of him, and the comforting sound of him eating his hay while I brushed him.

Saddled up, and took him for a walk down the lane to warm up, then into the school for lots of trotting again.

We had a repeat performance on Monday’s trotting work-out. He definitely was NOT into it and on a few occasions just stopped.

I was trying to work out if I was doing something different, if I was telling him to stop with my seat, whether my balance was shifting so as to make him uncomfortable, whether his saddle was causing any irritation.

Well, it wasn’t the saddle, I know that, so I thought it must be down to me.

We got there in the end though, he was much happier when I stopped rising trot and went to sitting, so we did a couple of good circuits of that, then walk, stand and off I got, loosened his girth and told him he was a good boy.

We got back to his box, and immediately I took his tack off, he went up on his back toes for a wee, a look of great relief on his face.

“Why didn’t you say you had to go, Max?”

“Get out! Stop looking at me! Shoo!”

“But you can do that when I’m on your back, you know.”

“Are you still here?”

I left him to it and retrieved his carrots from the car for his stretches, which were happily accepted, all forgiven.

Not sure why he won’t “go” when I’m on his back. He has only done it once in the time I’ve had him, and that was after a very exciting canter.

His next door neighbour won’t go in his box at all, which makes him pretty good to muck out, but he’s desperate to get to his field in the afternoon to let it go.

One of life’s little mysteries, I guess.