Transcribed from my typewriter. There'll be some overlap from the last one.
Have you ever cried so hard your teeth hurt?
I can’t believe she’s gone and we didn’t get a real goodbye. I felt sick this morning, taking pictures of her before we went to the vet, because I felt perverted and wrong to acy as if we would never see her again. Maybe I was just thinking about taking final pictures of her with two eyes, but I can’t remember. Maybe somehow I knew this would happen. I think she knew.
She slept right by my pillow all night, purring away like a love-crazed maniac. The happiest cat in the world, I thought. She woke me up exactly one minute before my alarm was supposed to go off to wake up and take her to the vet by rubbing her head against mine. I don’t think she’s ever done that before. And it wasn’t just once either. As I came around, I remember I kept telling her, today’s the day, you’ll be okay, I love you so much, and she kept running her head along the back of my own, meowing cheerfully. Maybe she knew and was just ready to go.
I really wish she could have waited around for us, so I could have hugged her at tight as I could. I don’t know if that would have been any easier than what happened, though. I don’t know if we would have taken that pain any better. Maybe she knew that, too.
My whole body aches for her. I found myself freshly sobbing when I realized I don’t have any reason to leave my door open a crack anymore. I don’t have to look around the floor when I’m walking through the dark hallway upstairs. And this is the worst I’ve got. She was the most wonderful friend I could ever have. She was perfect. I loved how vocal she was and I loved her, dandruff and all. That cat could do no wrong, as far as I was concerned. Icky can get on my nerves any day and when I’m in a bad mood, he only makes things worse. I would come up to my bedroom, find my best buddy, and I would love on her until I felt better. It helped when she loved me back so much.
I truly believe that she loved me just as much as I loved her, if not more. And maybe that’s why she chose to spare me and Kyle of having to stand watch while she died under our hands. I just wish she weren’t so wise, doing what was best for us. Either way, death was what was best for her, and that’s all I ever wanted.
I’m glad she could die happy and in no pain. That much is definite. She had a great life and a loving home and plenty of her favorite Meow Mix and head scratchers.
Fuck, I love that cat more than anything I can think of. I can’t think of a single thing that could come even close to rivaling her. She wasn’t just part of my family, she was the most important part of my family.
She was so cloe to her birthday, too. All we wanted was to give her the best birthday of her life, but instead she’ll have the best birthday of her afterlife and Kyle and I are left below to celebrate without her. When she was born, I was just turning six years old.
She was all I had. What now? I hate feeling sorry for myself and wallowing in spite of this, but goddamn, I missed her earlier when I thought she was for just a few hours. I don’t know how I’m going to handle her being gone everyday for the rest of my life.
I can still feel the residue of her fur against my fingertips from holding her at the vet’s office. Her body was so heavy, as if her soul had a negative weight. She was so limp in my arms and collapsed onto my forearm, as if sitting on the arm of a couch and not a person. If I didn’t look at her face, she looked just like my baby girl that I’ve loved so intensely all these years. I could just pet her and pet her and pet her and I could almost feel her purring beneath my hands, almost see her breathing slowly in her eternal sleep.
The people at our veterinarian are so kind. They made a little plaster imprint of her paw for us to take home. Mom suggested we put it in her garden in spring, but god, I don’t want to do that. I never go out to that garden and I want to be reminded of the cat I loved everyday, reminded how much she loved me, too.
Petting her empty body there in the sterile surgery room, looking down at my hands, all I could see was how red and raw and torn apart they were. It seemed as though every one of my knuckles opened up and started bleeding all at the same time. The letters on my fingers red BIRTHDAY but I wasn’t feeling much like celebrating anymore. I wish I had changed it before she died, to something more like ILOVEHER or THANKYOU or CARLYCAT or anything except fucking BIRTHDAY. The last thing I want to do is reflect on my birthday and celebrate.
Maybe I should have seen the signs. She had been using my suitcase to help get onto my bed since I brought it home. Kyle said her eye had been swollen for a couple of weeks before I moved back. I had noticed the other day that her jaw looked lopsided. I had given her wet food last night with her dry food and she hardly ate any of it, a major rarity for her. I don’t know if that means the tumor had started to conflict with her eating or if she just didn’t feel hungry anymore, awaiting the end.
Really, I know I can’t blame myself and I need to stay positive for Kyle so that he doesn’t blame himself either. There was nothing we really could have done. Even if we had gotten the eye out earlier, there was a chance that we’d never have known about the mouth tumor until it was too late for that, too.
I just want to hear her talk to me at night, in the morning, when I come home from class. I just want to be with her always. I don’t know what I can do for her now that we’re on opposite sides of a world.
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