Last week. :,(
I don’t think I have any tears left. Just a ginger cat who finally realized his 12-year sidekick is gone. A little orange guy who will not be more than 5 feet away from me. We can only sort of hold each other and try not to look or listen for her.
I had to do it. I had to make the call. It made my soul shake and snot seep out both nostrils. My eyes burned and my heart ached and there is the biggest missing piece yet.
It’s more than a pet. It is losing a companion. It is losing a keeper of twelve years worth of memories and hope. It is losing the best damn alarm clock, and it’s losing a limb. It’s losing a best friend and a giant piece of me.
I’m so lucky. I had this creature that loved me, more than anything besides maybe Bon Jovi.
I know to some it seems like a simple grief, and I should be over it already but this was my unit. No matter how hard life seemed, or how behind, or how unsuccessful I was with everything, I had this little being that didn’t care. She just wanted to curl up on my chest, or yell at me to fill up the food bowl then look at it like, “Ok, great. I’ll eat this later.” She was such a piece of the last decade+ of my life.
She died in my arms. I took her back to the vet. Well, Elizabeth drove because if that wouldn’t have happened I would have been sleeping in the bathtub with Tuesday while she lived her last days, dying of extreme hunger and thirst. She had stopped eating and drinking. They sent me home from the vet (the time I got to bring her home) with antibiotics, and antacids, and an IV bag of fluid. I was supposed to grab my love, twice a day and insert a very large needle into her back and give her 50cc of fluid 2x a day. Grab, my darling little cat who up until last Friday was only held when she deemed ok, (or forced into it for her once-a-day snuggle/I love you). And she just let me. She was so far gone, she didn’t even flinch when I stuck a giant needle into her scruff.
She died in my arms. Elizabeth and I cried, more than for either of our breakups. She was our baby. She was the little cat that never tried to run away. She would sit, in the hallway halfway between each of our rooms to make sure we were both safe. She would often pick the one who needed her most, and rest her little soul-patched chin on our legs or our arms.
And the last person, the girl who took her away, after her last breath had passed through her little kitty face. That bitch called her Wednesday. She was a Tuesday. She was the day where you still have a few to figure it out. It’s not Monday, so it’s not terrible. In college Tuesday was dollar night at Hangar 9 and we would go and dance, and drink $1 gin and tonics. And love, oh how we would love. I would say 75% of my Carbondale polaroids are from dollar night. Tuesday was not a Wednesday. Just googled it. Tuesday was born on August 13th, 2005. That was a Saturday. She now owns 3 days of the week. The day she was born, the day she walked into my life to stay, and the day I had to say goodbye. She owns all of them, if you think about it, because all days end in day. But Tuesday will always be my favorite day.
After we said goodbye, we came home and drank one of Elizabeth’s fancy champagnes that she had got from her old job. We looked at all the polaroids I had taken and turns out Elizabeth had her own extensive kitty picture collection from both the nuggets. Tuesday would have been so mad at how much we cried over her, but we listened to Billie Holiday and tried to think of all our favorite Tuesy stories.
I’m going to stop apologizing for feeling. These emotions are me.
Another thing I want to stop apologizing for is my new car. Yep, I got her! She is glorious, and I love her. (And she is, the color of little muffin’s eyes). I am tentatively calling my Subaru “Bae B” and I think that’s fitting. I bought myself a brand-spanking new car. The exact one that I want. I saved for 2 years to make the down payment. My monthly payments might be a smidge higher than I would like, but in 4 years I will fully own the exact car I want.
I’m a god-damed golden retriever and girlfriend* away from EVERY PNW stereotype. And I don’t give. A Flying. Fuck.
*also, though I may have dabbled I am 99% sure I am still looking for a husband, not a lovely lady partner. (I mean, I essentially have one with my roommate, though none of the fun sex stuff…).
But the car, goal one of my 3.2 “To Do” list. Now just learn the drums, write a novel and go to Denmark (or international).
Also, build Jovi a cat backpack because I can’t leave him home all by himself, can I.
That was a long, shitty week. Perhaps this next one will help some love find it’s way back into my life, and start filling the hole left by my one true, lady love.