My other cat died last night.
My other cat died last night.
So far this year, my life has existed only in atmospheric highs and abysmal lows.
I was back in the mood to write, my photography was amazingly received-- so much so that I've been considering a new academic track, work was extremely profitable, men seemed to be coming out of the woodwork, my hockey team was finally living up to their potential, and a new aura of hope hung over the city.
And then I lost my beloved cat, my professions of love fell on Neil's deaf ears, Cory admitted having a wife, Seth patched things up with his, I feel so guilty for thinking that I'd trade the cat I have left to get the other one back, I sunk just a bit further into this depression, I have no desire even to write these short paragraphs...
Now, just to top off this mess, my dear friend's three month old son died unexpectedly two weeks ago. (Am I the only one who finds that stupid that we feel the need to qualify 'died' with 'unexpectedly'-- is there really any other way to die other than unexpectedly when the deceased in question is under the age of, oh, I don't know, 60?)
I'm less than 24 hours from my 37th birthday and still living my life like I'm 18. Sometimes it doesn't surprise me at all that I'm still single...
I'm sure I'll be back to looking on the brighter side of things tomorrow... it's just that it seems so dark tonight.
I have to cage my remaining cat. I got the biggest (affordable) cage I could find, and finally put it together tonight. She sniffed it a bit and walked away. Then I put her in it for a few minutes.
Let's just say she was not happy.
She spun in circles crying incessantly, and when she realized she couldn't get out, she backed into the corner and looked at me with such hurt bewilderment I almost raced across the room to free her. I thought for sure she'd at least jump between the three perches to explore a bit further, but instead she climbed up the side of the cage to the middle perch, backed into the corner there, and cried.
I let her out after about 15 minutes and she ran directly to my closet and crawled into the sock drawer I leave open for her to lay in. (Well, not so much 'leave open' as 'broke the runner'). The only thing that lured her out was the ding of the microwave as I was re-heating my left-over mac and cheese. Which, of course, she got to share with me.
Now she's laying curled at my side, something she's started to do on a regular basis again now that my beloved fat boy is gone, purring away.
It's times like this that make me feel so guilty for doing this to her, but she hasn't used the litter box since I came back from the vet without her brother. To my delight, the projectile diarrhea has cleared up, and she's changed her peeing preference to the bathroom tile floor from the hardwood and wool carpet elsewhere. She's even pooped on the floor right in front of me the other night. Her only health issue is her age, so the vet suggested confinement to try to get her to use the box again.
I really hope this works, because it's making me feel like complete and total shit.
A complainer, a lamer
not a future hall of famer
got Bettman's affection
but he's surely not "The Next One"
his mouth is always running
with his swollen flapping lips
that he puckers up for Mario
when he isn't sucking......
he's out of luck,
cause all the
tears and press attention will not
help him catch Ovechkin
He's a diver, a whiner
with a wimpy one-timer
a cheater, a bleater
and a loser, not a leader
he talks a lot of smack because
he thinks he'll kick your butt
he'll just hit you with his stick
and then he'll punch you in the nuts
well at least on certain stations
a poster child for francophiles
who dance to Zombie Nation
all his fans are morons
who defend his every stunt
and the "C" that's on his chest
well it really stands for...
like laser pucks, though you can
dress him up with lipstick, you can't
A yoni, a phony
losing races with zambonis
it's scary how you're married
to Lemieux and Donna Cherry
you aren't worth this music
or your 40 million bucks, you'll
waste your life in Pittsburgh
and you'll never win the Cup
won't win the cup, how can the
fans of Swann and Bettis
stand in line to buy his sweater?
and stand behind his letters
when Malkin's clearly better?
WAAH, WAAH, WAAH, WAAH, WAAH, WAAH
BOO HOO, CINDY CRIESBY
So the guy I ran into while I was out with Seth is married.
And here my grandmother thought I'd never attract a husband!
So, I'm doing okay... still a bit sad, but I haven't cried since Friday. I probably wouldn't have cried then had I not gotten another condolence card from the vet. And I think pouring everything out here helped me exorcise most of the heartbreak. Right now I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop, though-- I'm expecting his ashes back any day now.
And I also spent the evening with Seth on Thursday, which helped to break me out of the funk, too. Funny thing-- I was out with Seth and ran into a guy I'd met a few months ago, a guy who'd given me his card whom I hadn't called, given the indiscreet circumstances of our meeting. I was genuinely happy to see him-- as he was to see me, too-- and he asked me to call. I did, and we've been playing a bit of phone tag over these last few days. I'm keeping my fingers crossed...
I kind of miss Neil. I didn't get to see him before he left, so in the midst of my grief I wrote him a letter telling him everything I wanted to say but was too afraid. I called my best friend and read it to her over the phone before I sent it just to make sure it wasn't on the psycho side of things. I basically told him that I was proud of him for taking this big step in his life and that, while I love him, and that once upon a time had hoped things would have worked out differently for us, I realize that I we can't give each other what we need and should just move on. I also told him that I think he should have the decency to break it off with Sara and let her go find someone to give her what she is looking for if he can't/won't do it. Yeah-- EEK! I actually said it!!
Anyway... I haven't heard anything from him about the letter. Not that I expected to, him being the 'ignore it and it might go away' kind of guy that he is, but maybe it will settle into the back of his mind where his subconscious can mull it over for a while.
And to top everything off, I got a text from Lee today. Just a Happy St. Pat's Day, but still, there he is rearing his ugly head again...
I made it until 9:30 tonight before I cried.
This morning I actually felt a little bit like I was alive. Work wasn't that bad-- I even managed a few genuine laughs with my guests.
The hours at work this week have been small respite, but there is a lingering sadness that I just can't mask. A tiredness around my eyes. And I found a gray hair today. Given the frequency that I colour my hair, I know that it's not grown in on it's own. I feel older.
I know it's only been four days, but I am still completely shattered. I've cried more for this cat than I have for all my lost relatives put together. He was my baby. Sure, I got the other cat first, but he and I truly belonged to each other. We were inseperable. He followed me around, having to be near me constantly, sleeping on the pillow next to my head. And sleeping next to me wasn't enough-- one paw would reach out to touch my hand or the top of my head. If, for some reason, he moved to the foot of the bed, he'd stretch one of his hind legs over my ankle.
Of course I cried the entire four hours in the vet office. I cried as I walked out, causing the full lobby of pet owners to fall completely silent. Tears rolled down the entire ride home. I cried while typing the text messages to Neil and my three closest friends to tell them what happened and to please not call me and make me talk about it. And if I thought I cried hard when I held him for the last time, I cried even harder after I shut my apartment door and I was finally alone.
I cried Sunday morning when he wasn't there to lay on the paper I was reading. I cried on the walk home from the hockey game I didn't really want to go to but did in the hopes it would offer escape. I cried when I tried to go to sleep that night and all I could see when I closed my eyes was the image of his face when I handed his body back to the vet. Or his dangling tail that I reached for and kissed (seven times, right on the tip-- just like I always did before leaving) as she turned to take him away.
On Monday I made it until I came home and heard the message from the lady at Heavenly Days concerning my wishes in regards to his ashes. I was good for a few hours after that, but then sadness hit me from out of nowhere and all I could do was curl up and let it all out.
Yesterday morning was hard. I dialed the number to the crematory twice and had to hang up each time before it started ringing. I called my mom and asked her to call for me. Last night I was restless, unfocused. I tried to read, but spent half an hour on two pages I can't recall a word of. I cried when I couldn't fool myself into thinking that he was just hiding in his favourite spot in the back of the closet on that old sweater that fell on the floor.
Today I found myself going three blocks out of my way on the walk home, every step becoming more and more leaden. This evening the nervous energy kicked in, and while my apartment is still a mess, his carrier still in the middle of the floor, I've washed every dish I own. Even the clean ones. I ironed shirts for my next five shifts. I polished the glass on my aquariums. Then I picked up my comb from where I knocked it on the floor and realized I'll never again look down while doing my hair and see him staring up at me, his fuzzy paws kneading the carpet before he jumps up and begs to have his fur combed. And I cried.
And I cried some more because I'll never again slide my cold toes under his fat, hairy belly to warm them. I'll never share the Cool Whip on my pumpkin pie with him again. I won't ever again turn around to find him licking the syrup off my waffles. I can't have kiss-fights with him anymore. I'll never hear the pigeon-like cooing noises he made while 'telling' me about his day when I come home from work. I'll never be awakened by his raspy tongue licking my eyelids when I hit the snooze alarm too many times.
I'm crying as I type this.
And I'll cry later when I'm trying to fall asleep and I reach out in my semi-consciousness to bury my fingers in thick fur that is no longer there.
I had to put my cat down today.
Seth's wife and I went to the hockey game together tonight. Did I mention I'd never met her before? A bit odd, me sitting with her and Seth & the boys sitting elsewhere.
Not even to mention having 'get to know you' questioning happening in front of Real Life People...
Amazingly enough, I wasn't nervous-- though Seth was obviously on pins and needles!
The only thing I was worried about was how his boys reacted to seeing me again-- I'd only ever met them once before, and one at a time. I wasn't quite prepared for the two tornadoes that assailed me from out of nowhere, hugging me and fighting over who got to hold my hand... and then promptly dissed their mom when she arrived after the 1st period.
I love those boys-- they look like little mini-versions of Seth and have completely irreverent personalities. The oldest reminds me of one of those old comedians that worked mountain resorts in the 1940s. All that kid needs is a martini and a cigar and he'd be a little Shecky Green clone! The youngest is a cuddler with bouts of ADHD...
But as much as I love them, I know for sure I'd kill them if I had to spend protracted amounts of time with them. At least at these ages, anyway! The spontaneous punches and wrestling were out of control, and trying to keep track of them was like herding cracked-out chimpanzees.
Anyway, the wife and I hit it off, and Seth and I have the green light to proceed with seeing each other whenever we like.