Of all the souls I've encountered in my travels, his was the most... human.
I feel a deep sadness this morning. I woke up at 5:30 AM, thinking I heard two of the cats fighting. It was their usual time to be fed anyway, so I got up. For them it is morning as usual. My routine has changed though. It is no longer five bowls, but four. No longer a can of food we knew Apollo would eat, and then a can or two of other kinds for the rest. No more running the hot water to pour onto his food to make it soupy so he would get more water in his diet to help his failing kidneys.
I knew he was dead when I woke up, but it didn't hit me as a surprise. I didn't think exactly about it even, but I just knew instantly when I returned to conciousness.
When the inside cats were fed, I started on a can for the two foster boys in the back garage. And easy feat since their sisters are at the vet till we pick them up today. I'd barely opened the can when the cat who has been sleeping in the box on the porch was outside. She or he has learned to just start meowing at the back door when it is time to eat. We'd like to help this cat, but we'd also like to get the fosters gone first so we could potentially trap this new one in the back garage and see whether it is a true feral or just a stray.
Much to do, many cats around, yet it felt empty in here this morning. I decided to go lay back down in bed, as I feel utterly exhausted still from losing a night's sleep. I was only laying there about 55 seconds when I decided to just get up again, and the waves of sadness and grief took me over.
I was thinking how I don't need to try to remember the details of Apollo's first days with me. I wrote them down in this very journal. I could easily go back to November 2006 and read all about my experience taking him in. For whatever reason that cut me right into my heart and felt counteracted by this feeling that I desperately just want to forget because the pain feels so intense.
I'd put together an album of photos in my iPhotos last night and we played the slideshow on the TV. Of all the cats from Apollo to the nuts we have today. It was clear he was my "favorite" because of the excessive amount of pictures I do have. Shiloh had a lot too. I always felt like maybe I'd been a bit dismissive and less loving of Loki, who I did often blame for showing up and "ruining" the dynamic we original three had. I've felt guilt about that for a few years now, since he's been gone.
I think about what little I really knew about cats back when this all started. Compared to today and how I really do have a knack for interacting and communicating with this kind of animal. An understanding of them. And how Apollo was the forerunner in my education.
When my dad died, I was not this affected. I did not question death like I feel I am now. He was sick, he took a downturn and was gone within three days. I cried mostly because I saw my mother crying. I didn't feel like I do with Apollo. I feel a finality to this death I did not feel for my father. There is God and the afterlife and the possibility that his soul is going to go on. For my pet, as silly as it may sound to some, I grieve because I do not know if his spirit will go on. I do not believe animals have souls. If there is something else to it, that would have to mean the spirit of every animal goes on, whether it be a house cat, a dog, a bird that flies into your windows or a raccoon that gets hit by a car. I guess in the logical part of my brain that just doesn't seem like it makes sense.
I am not God. I do not know. Most, if not all, of the people on Earth who say they speak for God can't say for sure either. There's no comfort in this that any person can give me.
I keep thinking also about his body being in the ground out there. I love to walk around cemeteries. I've visited my father's grave. I know his physical body is down there. It doesn't creep me out. I've contemplated how long before he becomes a mummy or a pile of bones. It seems natural and a valid thing to consider, when it is my father's body. With Apollo, I think about my beloved cat rotting away down there, if some animal doesn't come along and try digging him up (hence us piling cobblestones over the area to prevent this until the ground freezes). I placed him in the box beforehand. His small, fragile body. Limp with death. Thoughts that bring me to tears as I type them.
There is not a thing I could have done differently. He was going to die someday no matter what. As are we all. I made mistakes along the way, but I think for the most part I always did the very best I could for him. He was spoiled some may say. I miss my friend, my companion. He was as laser focused on me as a pet could be. He held no grudge. Even when he was "bad", it was more often funny and charming than truly upsetting. This creature who was by my side for two decades. The Sparrow, the Sicilian... I've known them less, even a half of the time, I knew Apollo. His being a cat does not mean his presence had lesser meaning to me. Yet, I feel myself chastising my reaction.
I wish I could just let myself grieve. Instead there always has to be this battle within about how I am "supposed" to be. Likely some kind of gift from my parents that will plague me forever.
I cannot say enough how empty the house feels this morning. There is an absence there that is palpable to me. An emptiness. We've moved some of the beds that we had strategically placed for his comfort near heating vents. We've tossed the papasan cushion in the garage he'd peed on so it can go in the trash. The blood stains on the sunroom carpet are covered under a bed until we can shampoo out there today. The litter box that was upstairs has been returned to the basement. I want to get back to normalcy, but I too feel like I am erasing things that remind me of him (as if we should just live with a litter box in the sunroom forever).
I have to grieve. This is all part of the process, the experience. Time moves on. I will grow beyond this and a day will come when I may forget to even think about Apollo. Then it may become a seasonal thing, based on dates or times when I suddenly have memories. His grave outside, though we would never just "abandon" it, will some day be settled and perhaps overgrown with plants or flowers. And I may even someday walk past it without acknowledging it. Work will not care Monday about this (not that they even cared yesterday). This won't change the drama of my family. This won't prevent the Sparrow's pay cut at work. Nothing in the universe is going to stop for a second because of this.
When he was alive though, he had the power to stop work, just by jumping in front of my screen and blocking my keyboard. He had the power to stop my concerns over family drama by drawing my attention to him because he demanded it in that moment. When I truly focused on him and the enjoyment he brought me in life, the universe didn't matter because at those times I allowed myself to solely a fix my sights, my heart and mind on the presence of this cat. And there was true comfort there.
Amidst the grief this morning I have this desperate feeling not to forget.
I knew he was dead when I woke up, but it didn't hit me as a surprise. I didn't think exactly about it even, but I just knew instantly when I returned to conciousness.
When the inside cats were fed, I started on a can for the two foster boys in the back garage. And easy feat since their sisters are at the vet till we pick them up today. I'd barely opened the can when the cat who has been sleeping in the box on the porch was outside. She or he has learned to just start meowing at the back door when it is time to eat. We'd like to help this cat, but we'd also like to get the fosters gone first so we could potentially trap this new one in the back garage and see whether it is a true feral or just a stray.
Much to do, many cats around, yet it felt empty in here this morning. I decided to go lay back down in bed, as I feel utterly exhausted still from losing a night's sleep. I was only laying there about 55 seconds when I decided to just get up again, and the waves of sadness and grief took me over.
I was thinking how I don't need to try to remember the details of Apollo's first days with me. I wrote them down in this very journal. I could easily go back to November 2006 and read all about my experience taking him in. For whatever reason that cut me right into my heart and felt counteracted by this feeling that I desperately just want to forget because the pain feels so intense.
I'd put together an album of photos in my iPhotos last night and we played the slideshow on the TV. Of all the cats from Apollo to the nuts we have today. It was clear he was my "favorite" because of the excessive amount of pictures I do have. Shiloh had a lot too. I always felt like maybe I'd been a bit dismissive and less loving of Loki, who I did often blame for showing up and "ruining" the dynamic we original three had. I've felt guilt about that for a few years now, since he's been gone.
I think about what little I really knew about cats back when this all started. Compared to today and how I really do have a knack for interacting and communicating with this kind of animal. An understanding of them. And how Apollo was the forerunner in my education.
When my dad died, I was not this affected. I did not question death like I feel I am now. He was sick, he took a downturn and was gone within three days. I cried mostly because I saw my mother crying. I didn't feel like I do with Apollo. I feel a finality to this death I did not feel for my father. There is God and the afterlife and the possibility that his soul is going to go on. For my pet, as silly as it may sound to some, I grieve because I do not know if his spirit will go on. I do not believe animals have souls. If there is something else to it, that would have to mean the spirit of every animal goes on, whether it be a house cat, a dog, a bird that flies into your windows or a raccoon that gets hit by a car. I guess in the logical part of my brain that just doesn't seem like it makes sense.
I am not God. I do not know. Most, if not all, of the people on Earth who say they speak for God can't say for sure either. There's no comfort in this that any person can give me.
I keep thinking also about his body being in the ground out there. I love to walk around cemeteries. I've visited my father's grave. I know his physical body is down there. It doesn't creep me out. I've contemplated how long before he becomes a mummy or a pile of bones. It seems natural and a valid thing to consider, when it is my father's body. With Apollo, I think about my beloved cat rotting away down there, if some animal doesn't come along and try digging him up (hence us piling cobblestones over the area to prevent this until the ground freezes). I placed him in the box beforehand. His small, fragile body. Limp with death. Thoughts that bring me to tears as I type them.
There is not a thing I could have done differently. He was going to die someday no matter what. As are we all. I made mistakes along the way, but I think for the most part I always did the very best I could for him. He was spoiled some may say. I miss my friend, my companion. He was as laser focused on me as a pet could be. He held no grudge. Even when he was "bad", it was more often funny and charming than truly upsetting. This creature who was by my side for two decades. The Sparrow, the Sicilian... I've known them less, even a half of the time, I knew Apollo. His being a cat does not mean his presence had lesser meaning to me. Yet, I feel myself chastising my reaction.
I wish I could just let myself grieve. Instead there always has to be this battle within about how I am "supposed" to be. Likely some kind of gift from my parents that will plague me forever.
I cannot say enough how empty the house feels this morning. There is an absence there that is palpable to me. An emptiness. We've moved some of the beds that we had strategically placed for his comfort near heating vents. We've tossed the papasan cushion in the garage he'd peed on so it can go in the trash. The blood stains on the sunroom carpet are covered under a bed until we can shampoo out there today. The litter box that was upstairs has been returned to the basement. I want to get back to normalcy, but I too feel like I am erasing things that remind me of him (as if we should just live with a litter box in the sunroom forever).
I have to grieve. This is all part of the process, the experience. Time moves on. I will grow beyond this and a day will come when I may forget to even think about Apollo. Then it may become a seasonal thing, based on dates or times when I suddenly have memories. His grave outside, though we would never just "abandon" it, will some day be settled and perhaps overgrown with plants or flowers. And I may even someday walk past it without acknowledging it. Work will not care Monday about this (not that they even cared yesterday). This won't change the drama of my family. This won't prevent the Sparrow's pay cut at work. Nothing in the universe is going to stop for a second because of this.
When he was alive though, he had the power to stop work, just by jumping in front of my screen and blocking my keyboard. He had the power to stop my concerns over family drama by drawing my attention to him because he demanded it in that moment. When I truly focused on him and the enjoyment he brought me in life, the universe didn't matter because at those times I allowed myself to solely a fix my sights, my heart and mind on the presence of this cat. And there was true comfort there.
Amidst the grief this morning I have this desperate feeling not to forget.