(no subject)
Feeling like ass today. I had to put my cat of 19 years down yesterday. Feels bad, bro. :(
He was just so old (at least over 20, because he was fully grown when he found us) and he wasn't eating, barely walking, and peeing and pooping so I had to make him wear tiny diapers (made for cats and dogs, of course).
I knew he and I would be parting ways soon, but I was hoping to have another good year or two with him, but his health declined this year so badly. And now he's gone forever.
I alternate between being OK and being depressed and then crying. It's so unbearably fucking lonely right now. I have no cat to be like ABOOBOOBOO to in his face. This is the first time in my life there have been no cats in my house. It's like there is a dead piece inside me. We may get another cat or two, but not right now. At the moment I'm like ALL CATS ARE INFERIOR TO MY CAT WHO IS NOW DEAD AND GONE FOREVER AND I WILL EXCEPT NOTHING LESS THAN HIS CLONE. But I am so lonely. I just need someone to hug and play with to help fill that aching void of depression.
I miss him so much.
He came to live with my family when I was 10 years old. He was a stray, but someone had taken care of him, which is why we couldn't believe he was a stray at first. He was neutered, a lean, smaller male but a good, fast hunter. He was both insanely clever and kinda dumb. He always had his nose into everything, which led to him tripping me very good at times. He just always had to be under foot, or into your stuff.
My dad hated him (though not cats, just this one), and mom and I found him amusing. He was afraid of men for a long time, which led my mom to believe he had run away from an abusive home.
He forced his way into our house one autumn. He would greet us at the door when we came home and just waltz right in like he owned the place. It didn't appear he was getting food any where else, and no one was looking for him, so we decided to keep him.
My dad called him Bum, because he felt he was a hobo cat. My mom called him a screechy door, because his meow was more like a high pitched, scratchy cry, and always was (he was a very vocal cat). We eventually shortened it to Screech, and that was his name ever since.
It's hard for me now to think of a time without Screech. He was the only cat we ever had that ever felt like mine, and probably it meant more to me because he chose us. He used to like sleeping with me in my room. He liked to sleep as close to you as he could. Sometimes, he would just stretch out a paw to touch your hand. Later in life he learned to grab at your arm or face when he wanted your attention, a very human trait.
Until the end of his life he still had all of his teeth, though he had trouble eating, possibly because of some medical condition. The vets never could figure out what it was.
On Monday morning he was already having a lot of difficulty doing things. He clung to me on the weekend. While I've been told that sick cats hide, my cats have so far come to me when they are sick, so I know to do something right away, and for that I'm glad. Monday, however, he finally refused to eat. Screech loved to eat, so this was the sign to me that it was the end. I broke down and found a vet that would take us, a good one close to home. I really wanted him to die at home, but I couldn't arrange that in time. I was afraid that if I left it any longer he would starve to death, and that was not how I wanted my buddy to die.
I was with him when he died. It was quick and painless and he knew nothing of it. All he knew was me, and that's all I could have wished for him.
He is to be cremated and placed in a small urn for me to keep with me until I die. I kinda want to be cremated and be put with him so we can be together forever, I feel so strongly about him.
He came to me when I was young and had just experienced a very profound death in my life. I felt much as I do now: lost, angry, sad, tired, and heartbroken. He came to me and helped me heal then. I hope one day the pain will be eased. It's not enough to say he was just a cat. To me he was my tiny world. I could see so much of my own personality in him. He got me through so much. To not have him here seems so unfair.
But I have been told that I did a good job with him, that he must have wanted to live so long to be with me. I suppose that's so. And I feel that by making sure he went out peacefully was my last duty to him. He trusted my family, in his own kitty way, when he chose us to be his new family. I don't know what his story was before he came to us, and perhaps I don't want to know. It doesn't matter any more. It only matters that I loved him very, very much, and though he had many opportunities, he never ran away, and always came home. And that is where I'll keep him.
He was just so old (at least over 20, because he was fully grown when he found us) and he wasn't eating, barely walking, and peeing and pooping so I had to make him wear tiny diapers (made for cats and dogs, of course).
I knew he and I would be parting ways soon, but I was hoping to have another good year or two with him, but his health declined this year so badly. And now he's gone forever.
I alternate between being OK and being depressed and then crying. It's so unbearably fucking lonely right now. I have no cat to be like ABOOBOOBOO to in his face. This is the first time in my life there have been no cats in my house. It's like there is a dead piece inside me. We may get another cat or two, but not right now. At the moment I'm like ALL CATS ARE INFERIOR TO MY CAT WHO IS NOW DEAD AND GONE FOREVER AND I WILL EXCEPT NOTHING LESS THAN HIS CLONE. But I am so lonely. I just need someone to hug and play with to help fill that aching void of depression.
I miss him so much.
He came to live with my family when I was 10 years old. He was a stray, but someone had taken care of him, which is why we couldn't believe he was a stray at first. He was neutered, a lean, smaller male but a good, fast hunter. He was both insanely clever and kinda dumb. He always had his nose into everything, which led to him tripping me very good at times. He just always had to be under foot, or into your stuff.
My dad hated him (though not cats, just this one), and mom and I found him amusing. He was afraid of men for a long time, which led my mom to believe he had run away from an abusive home.
He forced his way into our house one autumn. He would greet us at the door when we came home and just waltz right in like he owned the place. It didn't appear he was getting food any where else, and no one was looking for him, so we decided to keep him.
My dad called him Bum, because he felt he was a hobo cat. My mom called him a screechy door, because his meow was more like a high pitched, scratchy cry, and always was (he was a very vocal cat). We eventually shortened it to Screech, and that was his name ever since.
It's hard for me now to think of a time without Screech. He was the only cat we ever had that ever felt like mine, and probably it meant more to me because he chose us. He used to like sleeping with me in my room. He liked to sleep as close to you as he could. Sometimes, he would just stretch out a paw to touch your hand. Later in life he learned to grab at your arm or face when he wanted your attention, a very human trait.
Until the end of his life he still had all of his teeth, though he had trouble eating, possibly because of some medical condition. The vets never could figure out what it was.
On Monday morning he was already having a lot of difficulty doing things. He clung to me on the weekend. While I've been told that sick cats hide, my cats have so far come to me when they are sick, so I know to do something right away, and for that I'm glad. Monday, however, he finally refused to eat. Screech loved to eat, so this was the sign to me that it was the end. I broke down and found a vet that would take us, a good one close to home. I really wanted him to die at home, but I couldn't arrange that in time. I was afraid that if I left it any longer he would starve to death, and that was not how I wanted my buddy to die.
I was with him when he died. It was quick and painless and he knew nothing of it. All he knew was me, and that's all I could have wished for him.
He is to be cremated and placed in a small urn for me to keep with me until I die. I kinda want to be cremated and be put with him so we can be together forever, I feel so strongly about him.
He came to me when I was young and had just experienced a very profound death in my life. I felt much as I do now: lost, angry, sad, tired, and heartbroken. He came to me and helped me heal then. I hope one day the pain will be eased. It's not enough to say he was just a cat. To me he was my tiny world. I could see so much of my own personality in him. He got me through so much. To not have him here seems so unfair.
But I have been told that I did a good job with him, that he must have wanted to live so long to be with me. I suppose that's so. And I feel that by making sure he went out peacefully was my last duty to him. He trusted my family, in his own kitty way, when he chose us to be his new family. I don't know what his story was before he came to us, and perhaps I don't want to know. It doesn't matter any more. It only matters that I loved him very, very much, and though he had many opportunities, he never ran away, and always came home. And that is where I'll keep him.