They say these things come in threes ...
I'm meant to be getting quite a few things done. I have RPG's to post for, my own new fic to write and a 2 fics I'm supposed to be betar'ing. I feel like I am continually behind now days. I wanted to write an account of my Trip to Sydney … but I never seem to get there. Tonight, however, as I try to hold back tears unsuccessfully, I had to write something.
I have trouble expressing my feelings, especially when recent events count. I hate crying in front of anyone and I know the moment I open my mouth about what I'm feeling, especially when dealing with loss I will lose control. Who knew I was such a control freak? (Shut up all of you that know me well and know better :P)
Today I lost someone I loved deeply. I'm sure we all have been through it at one stage or another. I know have in the past. Animals bring us such love and happiness when they are here but bring such pain when they have to leave. Having them around for so long I think we forget that their lifespan is shorter than ours.
I remember walking out into the backyard when I was 13 years old and finding my family dog,a German Shepherd called Brandy, lying in the backyard. Just lying there. I knew as soon as I walked out there, as soon as I saw her that something was wrong. She's died of a heart murmur. I'm told peacefully. I hate to think she died alone in the backyard though. I'd grown up with her and I was shattered. I cried in the shower and didn’t go to school that day. My younger brother was at school camp when it happened. I remember not looking forward to Mum having to tell him. I remember my Dad asking me on our weekend with him “I hope you're not too upset.” I remember looking at him and thinking “are you crazy?”
This time around it is no different, only it is. I'm older now. I'm 26 and this was a pet that wasn’t just the family pet. He was mine.
I picked Tiger out of my Best friend's (at the time) Cat's litter. It was the first cat in years that we hadn’t just taken in from being a stray. I'd picked him, brought him home when he was old enough and he was mine. I remember the first night having him home. Tiny little ball of fur and trouble. He looked so sweet and innocent and then as soon as I closed my eyes to go sleep he decided it was play time. I had to sleep with my head under the covers for the first week to protect my nose from being attacked by tiny little kitten claws.
When I moved out of home for the first time I left him at mum's. I knew moving him away from the home he'd grown up in and away from the other cats would do his head in. It was hard as your pets become like your kids. But I was always comforted by the fact that the nights I stayed over at my Mum's house after that, Tiger would more often than not choose to sleep with me. Like he knew he was mine.
He eventually turned into the grumpy old man that was scared of a feather but would chase a dog off our property. He grew up driving my mother's black cat Milo insane and then we lost Milo he'd gained a younger brother in the stray my younger brother Matt had taken in, Mace. Eventually all those years of him annoying Milo came back to bite him in the arse when we took in another young stray we named Indy (after Indiana Jones of course.)
Every morning since I've been back at Mum's while all 3 cats ate it would be an obstacle course of tales to get down the hallway to the kitchen.
Then the start of 2011 came and all of us noted a distinct change in Tiger. His weight had dropped and it was obvious it wasn’t normal. I was a moron. Putting it down to age and living in denial. I didn’t want to know something was wrong. I didn’t want that fear. I eventually smartened up and agreed not to wait and my Nan took him to the VET while I was at work. We were told that his kidneys were bad that on a scale of 1-10 his were in the 10's. But with medication it was possible that he might be okay, even live longer.
So there we had the daily struggle to get Tiger to take his tablet. He isn’t able to be fooled by crushing the tablet with his food or any of those tricks. You simply just have to hold him and throw it down his throat. He seemed to get a little better and when after a months time we took him back to the Vet, he hadn’t gained wait but his kidney markers were a little better. It was good news.
Then Sunday night Tiger didn’t come back in when we called him. I called Monday and eventually (after having been out and come back) found him under the house. He was just sitting there. He looked at me but wouldn’t move. When he finally made a sound it wasn’t his normal voice but a weird almost pained meow. I got scared quickly. It took some major coaxing. I tried food and I tried begging. I'm convinced it was the begging and the need to be helped that eventually convinced him to move. He was a bit uneven on his feet and I picked him straight up and brought him inside.
He went straight into my room and under my bed. I went to get him a bowl of water and when I came back into my room he was sitting under my desk. He looked bad. He would meow every once in a while in a tone that broke my heart and scared me. Like he was asking for help. Like he was confused and sick.
He looked like he was gagging on something but only threw up once or twice and wouldn’t eat or drink anything I gave him. Every once and a while he'd give a pained, confused pleading meow that would rip through me. I was scared. I was really scared.
For some of the night he stayed cuddled up with Nan on her bed and then came back to my room. He seemed to seek out my room whenever he was scared or needing sanctuary. He stayed under my bed for part of the night and then on my bed next to my head as I patted him for part of it until my brother took him into my room so I could get some sleep for work the next day. I'd had so much time off work for funerals and when I went away that I really didn’t feel right having another day off.
I tried to get some sleep but it was hard. I had this sickening feeling this was it and I found myself dealing with tears even then as I tried to get some sleep. The morning came and Matt eventually took Tiger into my Nan's room as I sat dressed for work. The sound he made was so scared and pained and pitiful that I cringed. It's a sound that would literally rip right through me. I had left my mum money for the vet and she was going to borrow my car for the day. As I was leaving for work I stuck my head into my Nan's room to say goodbye but didn’t walk in. I am kicking myself and I hate that I didn’t. I didn’t walk in there because I knew that if I did the tears would come back and I couldn’t have that happen and go to work. But I hate myself for being a chicken shit. I didn’t go in there because I was too scared it would be the last time I saw him. I was too scared that I was saying goodbye for good and now I'm cant stop the guilt that I wasn’t even strong enough to say goodbye. I wasn’t strong enough to be there for him when he needed me. He trusted me and I wasn’t there. I cant stop feeling guilty about that. I failed him big time. I didn’t get to say goodbye because of my own weakness.
Mum texted me at work and I called her and she told me that they had indeed needed to put him to sleep. But not for the bad kidneys per se. He'd been bitten. Probably by a spider or a wasp or something. Bitten on the lip. His lip was swollen and his throat as well. The vet said that a normal healthy cat would recover in a few days on minimal food and water and medication. But Tiger … well he couldn’t survive without his medication and without food and water that long. So instead of letting him linger in pain. We decided the best thing for him was to put him to sleep.
There’s just this part of me that hates that even though I know logically for Tiger's sake there wasn’t really anything else we could do. But that call for help he was making makes me feel like I betrayed him. He was looking to me for help and I had him killed and I wasn’t even there when it happened. He wasn’t alone. My Nan was there holding him … and my Mum too. I was at work but now I regret it but then I know that if I hadn’t been able to say goodbye in the comfort of my grandmothers bedroom, then I wouldn’t have handled that very well either.
Mum asked me if I wanted them to wait to bury him. I told her to do it. I didn’t want them to wait. I couldn’t bring myself to even do that much for him. I feel like a complete failure, like a complete arse. The least I could do was bury him, right. I couldn’t do it.
Every time I think about him I just cant help thinking “sorry, Tige. I should have done more. I didn’t even say goodbye.” I'm such an idiot!
I haven’t been out to the grave yet. My brother is upset and has shed his own amount of tears and although he dug the grave (with Indy's help - actually an amusing story) He had to walk away when it came time to fill in the grave.
I telling people I’m okay - I am or I will be but since heading to bed I hadn’t really been alone enough to allow myself a moment to let the tears fall. I needed to express that guilt and that loss without completely losing it. I guess being a lousy excuse for a writer allows me to express all that through writing instead. Sorry to let loose like this. I will be okay.
Caroline called me tonight as soon as she saw on FB and she came around bearing flowers, a card, cute little plushies for me, Mum, Nan and Matt and chocolate/caramel pie. I don’t think I express what simple little gestures like that, like calling as soon as she knew (Lisa and Hillie too) mean. I'm emotionally inept, I swear. But It means a lot. I've gone from having friends that wouldn’t know what the hell is going on in my life and rarely care to ask to having this wonderful network of friends that are more family than anything else and I love them all dearly. Thank you everyone, friends new and old. I am lucky to have you.
I am sorry for letting loose like this, but I needed to get it out there and out of my system.
On a closing note …. Tiger - He was amazing, smart, stunning. We called him Shadow Boxer as his favourite thing to chase was any kind of shadow. He only liked to be held if you were standing up and preferably outside - he would pur like crazy if you did. His favourite food was Tuna or raw hearts that Nan would cut up for him. He only liked to sleep at the head of my bed. I would have to move my pillows from that side so he could get settled where HE wanted. He was named by Richmond Footballer Clinton King (now former player) who suggested the name to me. He hated change and would freak out over the simplest things like a football lying in the middle of the living room and he'd run from a mouse. But then he would also chase a dog off our property. He would fight with any other cat that come on our property but wouldn’t defend himself against Indy and I'm sure its because he knew Indy was here to stay. He was my baby boy. And I'm gonna miss him soooo much.
Tiger, I'm sorry I wasn’t strong enough to say goodbye. Love you. *wipes at annoying tears*
They say deaths come in three's. In the last few weeks I've been to my grandfather's funeral, a good friends funeral and now this … this is MY third. I'm hoping that's me done for a while.
RIP Pat, Charlie and Tiger.
