(no subject)
I've got happier things to talk about (Fielding pilgrimage with Die & Mika, extreme costume party win, absurd writing-related bumf) but I've been putting it off because it feels weird saying any of it without mentioning Ziggy first and I've kind of been trying not to think about her. She went missing a few weeks ago and never came back. Not knowing what's happened is so so much worse than confirmed bad news, but I checked in with every local vet and shelter and did everything I could to find out if she'd been seen anywhere and nothing so it's probably safe enough to assume she wandered away to die like cats do. She was fine at her her vet checkup a while ago and didn't seem ill or anything, but I know they like to hide it if they're feeling off so who knows? She was pretty old, about eighteen, so obviously it was going to happen sooner or later, but that doesn't make it any less horrible. I've always been fairly sensible about pets but she was different, I've never known another cat as ridiculous or funny or affectionate as she was. I think anyone who's not a pet person is going to think I'm an idiot for being this completely miserable over a lost cat and anyone who is a pet person will understand completely without all this stupid babbling so I should probably shut up, but if I've been distracted or uncommunicative or generally useless lately it's because no loss or breakup or work drama or physical pain has felt anywhere near as awful as this since my grandad died. Saying this with the least melodrama possible. It doesn't feel melodramatic, just exhausting. Too many people round here implying or outright saying "pull yourself together, it's just a cat" so I've not been talking about her which is probably making it worse. I know she's ~just a cat~ but she's MY cat, and suddenly being without the furface I've been sharing a house with for eight and a half years is the worst.
She wandered into my mum's garden the weekend before I moved to my flat in Wales, I kept seeing her skulking around the trees, so I sat on the grass for an hour and finally coaxed her out with bits of ham. Straightaway she sat on me and curled up to sleep and INSTANT LOVE. I tried really hard not to get attached to her because honestly I wasn't sure she'd survive (she was this tiny bag of bones and so covered in flea bites she seemed like more scab than skin, and we think she'd been hit by a car because she was missing some teeth, her tail was broken, and half her claws were ripped) but the vet said she'd be fine with plenty of tlc and asked if I wanted the shelter to take her. I said NO SHE IS MINE. Then the vet asked what I'd call her and I said Ziggy, and instead of saying "But Ziggy's a BOY!" like everyone else she just smiled and said "I get it. The ultimate stray." Best vet ever. Best cat ever.
The house is horribly quiet with only me in it and I keep semi-considering seeing who else needs adopting from the shelters, but can't really get on with the idea just yet. Whenever I do feel ok about it again I doubt it'll be another cat, because she was a once in a lifetime Lyra and Pan type deal. I'm happy I had this long with her. I don't know what her life was like up until she wandered into mine, but I know both our lives were better after she did.
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Mildly cheered up by looking through my scrapbook for cat photos and accidentally rediscovering a photo of excellent bruises and teethmarks and stubble burn during that weird hetero blip I had a few years ago. Poor Ziggy had to witness that in progress. Picture a long haired tattooed tough guy who looks vaguely like Hawksley Workman shrieking in horror at an unexpected cat paw on the bum because my bedroom door never stayed put when I closed it.
She wandered into my mum's garden the weekend before I moved to my flat in Wales, I kept seeing her skulking around the trees, so I sat on the grass for an hour and finally coaxed her out with bits of ham. Straightaway she sat on me and curled up to sleep and INSTANT LOVE. I tried really hard not to get attached to her because honestly I wasn't sure she'd survive (she was this tiny bag of bones and so covered in flea bites she seemed like more scab than skin, and we think she'd been hit by a car because she was missing some teeth, her tail was broken, and half her claws were ripped) but the vet said she'd be fine with plenty of tlc and asked if I wanted the shelter to take her. I said NO SHE IS MINE. Then the vet asked what I'd call her and I said Ziggy, and instead of saying "But Ziggy's a BOY!" like everyone else she just smiled and said "I get it. The ultimate stray." Best vet ever. Best cat ever.
The house is horribly quiet with only me in it and I keep semi-considering seeing who else needs adopting from the shelters, but can't really get on with the idea just yet. Whenever I do feel ok about it again I doubt it'll be another cat, because she was a once in a lifetime Lyra and Pan type deal. I'm happy I had this long with her. I don't know what her life was like up until she wandered into mine, but I know both our lives were better after she did.
Spam spam spam.
Mildly cheered up by looking through my scrapbook for cat photos and accidentally rediscovering a photo of excellent bruises and teethmarks and stubble burn during that weird hetero blip I had a few years ago. Poor Ziggy had to witness that in progress. Picture a long haired tattooed tough guy who looks vaguely like Hawksley Workman shrieking in horror at an unexpected cat paw on the bum because my bedroom door never stayed put when I closed it.