I cry when I pee.

Yes, I am a chronic over-sharer.  But it's not what you think.  The bathroom was Jake's domain.  Most of the time she would get to the bathroom before I would, stay in there while I was there, or would be demanding to get in if I hadn't left the door cracked.  But I usually did.  And somehow now closing the door feels wrong, feels like I'm shutting Jakie out, even though I know she's gone.

Jake was a drinker, a faucet drinker for as long as I can remember.  And since I couldn't leave the water running all the time, a cup on the bathroom counter would serve as a poor substitute she grudgingly drank from when she needed to.

In the last year she started sleeping in the bathroom or just outside of it, to the point where I put her bed in the hallway outside the bathroom door.  Her diabetes and apparent renal issues stepped up her obsession with running water and she stayed as close as she could all the time.

With her sides shaved so I could
more easily give her injections.

But sometimes when I went into the bathroom to use it for it's intended purpose, ahem, Jakie would come in and instead of jumping up to get water she would stand and look at me until I picked her up.  I would hold her in my lap and pet her, sometimes just wrap my arms around her and hold her close.  She was so tiny in the last couple of years, and she was the one kitty I could actually hug, hold, and carry with her head on my shoulder like a baby.  We had quality time in that bathroom, she and I.  And now every time I walk down that hallway, she isn't jumping up to beat me to the bathroom.  She isn't yelling at me if I pass her by without turning in or stopping to pet her or at least reach in and turn on the water.

She just isn't there.

My head knows that letting Jake go was the right thing to do.  But oh how my heart misses my little girl kitty who was named like a boy.  And it's going to take me a while to get past the weepy stage when I must visit her favorite place several times a day.