Departings and such
Last Friday/Saturday was not one of my best days. That night Sherman, who could honestly be best described as my cat, died. Yes, he was old, yes he was sick, but it hurt. He'd lost a lot of weight and wouldn't eat or drink really. I'd been trying to force him to take fluids and I'd asked someone in the house who isn't working to take him to the vet and I'd pay her back. Instead she didn't and went on about how she had a talk with him and all that jazz.
I'd found this odd. Why not take the cat to the vet if I'm paying for it? After all, I'm putting up my money all she has to do (and since she's not working it's not like she really has all that much else to do) is take him get some tests, get some fluids ... if it's super terminal put him down... I'm taking care of the costs. Then I have to go to work. So, I go and come back and no Sherman hadn't gone to the vet, but they were THINKING about it.
Anyway, I kept giving him water as often as I could and he'd weakly drink it from a drip type thing but not really. he could barely move his muscles wouldn't support him. He'd just lay where i put him on the couch. I pet him I talked to him and I held him. He squeezed my finger a little bit at one point and purred weakly.
So, that night I was talking with some folks when I heard him meow, it was a loud pitiful meow, the type of call that lets you know something is wrong. I can hear him starting to do the up chuck noise so I go to the couch. he'd already urinated where he lay and i picked him up and took him to the box where he threw up clear watery stuff and then slumped against me.
I held Sherman in my lap. He started to gasp for air and I couldn't do anything. I cried, and I pleaded. It was pointless. All I could do was hold him and watch him slip away. He was my closest ally, the one who no matter what was always by my side had died and I couldn't do anything about it.
I carried him into the kitchen. I sat with him in my lap his lifeless eyes staring at the floor his tongue lolling out. I closed his mouth and tried to close his eyes but they wouldn't shut. They just continued to stare that same scared look of realization as to what was going on. I sat on the floor and held him as what water was in him leaked from his mouth onto my pants and onto the floor. I really didn't care.
Eventually I took him to the garage and put him in a bag. I left a note for those who would be up later as to what had happened. I cleaned up the mess and took a shower. I apologized to anyone who I could for cutting out and they understood.
The thing is I don't feel much of anything right now. I can laugh or tell jokes but inside it's just not there. All that's left is a what feels like jello, a sort of a shaking that once anything is applied to it dissolves into nothing. It's been that way for a week. And then I started getting deja vu.
Walter isn't my cat so much. He's okay with me and I'm okay with him. He's always been more of a hard ass who isn't really into the cuddling I wanna sit by you real close thing though, if he hangs out it's in my room. I think he likes the bed. Anyway, the almost exact same thing is happening now with him that it was with Sherman. Not as far along but it's the same thing all the way around.
I will have to take him in. I just will. I can't trust anyone else to do this stuff. If it's something that can be fixed we need to fix it now. If not and it's goodbye well at least I'll have given it a legitimate shot. Even if he and I aren't best buds he's still there and deserves the fighting shot that Sherman didn't get and I'm partly to blame for that. I should never have put my trust in anyone else to do the right thing (which isn't sit there and say goodbye and not want to actually try, it's get off your lazy ass quit watching Judge Judy and take an hour or two to help).
So tomorrow I have to take Walter in otherwise no one else will.
I'd found this odd. Why not take the cat to the vet if I'm paying for it? After all, I'm putting up my money all she has to do (and since she's not working it's not like she really has all that much else to do) is take him get some tests, get some fluids ... if it's super terminal put him down... I'm taking care of the costs. Then I have to go to work. So, I go and come back and no Sherman hadn't gone to the vet, but they were THINKING about it.
Anyway, I kept giving him water as often as I could and he'd weakly drink it from a drip type thing but not really. he could barely move his muscles wouldn't support him. He'd just lay where i put him on the couch. I pet him I talked to him and I held him. He squeezed my finger a little bit at one point and purred weakly.
So, that night I was talking with some folks when I heard him meow, it was a loud pitiful meow, the type of call that lets you know something is wrong. I can hear him starting to do the up chuck noise so I go to the couch. he'd already urinated where he lay and i picked him up and took him to the box where he threw up clear watery stuff and then slumped against me.
I held Sherman in my lap. He started to gasp for air and I couldn't do anything. I cried, and I pleaded. It was pointless. All I could do was hold him and watch him slip away. He was my closest ally, the one who no matter what was always by my side had died and I couldn't do anything about it.
I carried him into the kitchen. I sat with him in my lap his lifeless eyes staring at the floor his tongue lolling out. I closed his mouth and tried to close his eyes but they wouldn't shut. They just continued to stare that same scared look of realization as to what was going on. I sat on the floor and held him as what water was in him leaked from his mouth onto my pants and onto the floor. I really didn't care.
Eventually I took him to the garage and put him in a bag. I left a note for those who would be up later as to what had happened. I cleaned up the mess and took a shower. I apologized to anyone who I could for cutting out and they understood.
The thing is I don't feel much of anything right now. I can laugh or tell jokes but inside it's just not there. All that's left is a what feels like jello, a sort of a shaking that once anything is applied to it dissolves into nothing. It's been that way for a week. And then I started getting deja vu.
Walter isn't my cat so much. He's okay with me and I'm okay with him. He's always been more of a hard ass who isn't really into the cuddling I wanna sit by you real close thing though, if he hangs out it's in my room. I think he likes the bed. Anyway, the almost exact same thing is happening now with him that it was with Sherman. Not as far along but it's the same thing all the way around.
I will have to take him in. I just will. I can't trust anyone else to do this stuff. If it's something that can be fixed we need to fix it now. If not and it's goodbye well at least I'll have given it a legitimate shot. Even if he and I aren't best buds he's still there and deserves the fighting shot that Sherman didn't get and I'm partly to blame for that. I should never have put my trust in anyone else to do the right thing (which isn't sit there and say goodbye and not want to actually try, it's get off your lazy ass quit watching Judge Judy and take an hour or two to help).
So tomorrow I have to take Walter in otherwise no one else will.