Trying To Hang On, Trying To Let Go

I HAVE NOT WASHED MY CAR in over a year. Its a white car, so it shows. Actually, its surprisingly white, still, perhaps because its been given free washings with rainfall. I suppose it could look worse. Nonetheless, it is streaked with black dirt smudges, and a simple visit to a car wash, or even a damp cloth applied to its surface for a few minutes would make a drastic difference. Only recently have I begun to consider washing it thoroughly, as I would normally do regularly. A friend of mine, a ninety two year old gentleman with a high standard for efficiency and cleanliness, asked me: "what's wrong with your car?" Having nothing to hide, I told him the truth. Well, my friend, you see, I said, the only thing wrong with it is that it needs a good old fashioned washing. Otherwise, it runs smooth and sweet. About a year ago, I continued, my beloved friend and companion, Cassandra, a beautiful black and grey female tabby, one of the loves of my life, died`. She had come to me in the early summer of 2015, just walked into my yard, apparently as a stray cat, and she rubbed against my leg, the way friendly cats do when seeking attention or food. Then, she left. She came back again about a week later, did the same thing, and left again. I noticed that she appeared to be underweight, and I resolved that if she returned, I would feed her, whether or not she had a home already, because she had no collar, and I don't let cats go hungry. She indeed came back a third time. I noticed she still appeared underweight, and fed her. She kept returning with increasing frequency, and predictably she ended ups staying with me, in my garage, since my three all indoor cats would never allow another cat inside. I named her Cassandra, and she and I formed a strong loving bond. Every day I made repeated visits to my garage, and spent many hours with her on my lap, as I sipped coffee, did some reading, and she lay on my lap, content to be in the loving embrace of her step daddy. She never seemed to have a high energy level, and never gained as much weight as I wanted. She learned that when my car was gone, I was gone, and would always await my return in my driveway. When I was home, I would look out the window and see her curled up on the hood of my car, as if to tell me she was glad I was home, and wanted to see me. I would hasten out to my parked car, stroke her head and back, and putter around the yard, with her scrutinizing eyes following my every move. Often she would follow me around the yard, helping with tree trimming and shrub trimming. I had her examined by my vet, got her vaccinations and all that, and took good care of her for two and a half years. Finally, she stopped eating, and my vet diagnosed her with kidney failure. We took extreme measures to restore her health, but fate had other plans. She died in my arms on December 4, 2017, the worst day of my life. I buried her in my yard near where my car is always parked, near where she and I sat together, sharing love. It was then that I noticed her paw prints on my back windshield, and streak marks where she had slid down from the car top to the top of the trunk. The paw prints and streaks were well visible, and, well, that's the way I decided to leave them. Over the months, they have of course faded slowly, but there they remain, still there after thirteen and a half months, still barely visible. My way of not letting go. Soon, it will be time to wash my car. Cassandra is in my heart and soul, not my dirty windshield. And some fine day, I hope and trust, she will be with me again, this time fully healthy, in my arms, on my lap, and forever in my heart and soul.