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I'm going to outlive this cat. I know it, I knew it, but now it's actually becoming obvious, his health is failing.
I haven't done the no no no tantrum often in my life, certainly it did no good for me to do so as a child...
Have you ever wanted to tackle the Reaper and drag it away from someone you love? Tangle it up in Its own robes, confuse and confound it?
How am I supposed to do this. How do I let, or help him, go across the rainbow bridge?
I haven't done the no no no tantrum often in my life, certainly it did no good for me to do so as a child...
Have you ever wanted to tackle the Reaper and drag it away from someone you love? Tangle it up in Its own robes, confuse and confound it?
How am I supposed to do this. How do I let, or help him, go across the rainbow bridge?
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When my Bert died, I cried for hours, and the bulk of it was gratitude. I had so much to thank him for, so much I hadn't thanked him for. When he was dying, I told him: He was the best cat ever. He was so good. I loved him so much.
What overcame me was not the loss, precisely, but realizing I could never, would never, make sure he felt all the love I felt for him. When someone is living, you have hope that your relationship will somehow communicate this between you. When they die, you've run out of chances; you just have to hope that what you've done is enough. And you can let them go, because they don't owe a debt to you; they don't have to keep trying, because they've accomplished what they need to. If you don't feel loved enough--if their death would leave you vitally lacking love or things to love--you need to expand your support network, so they can stop holding on by a thread.
Since seeing Bohemian Rhapsody, I've been comforted to an absurd degree by the Tweet that says, "Freddie Mercury is in heaven looking after every cat that has passed away so just know if your cat died they're with Freddie now." Because the idea of him being with an immortal-feeling, very present cultural icon who loved cats so fucking much helps me feel less jagged and dislocated from him.
I also spent the first few months with Bert's registration tag (which he never wore, but it was his) hanging on the mirror next to my door; I touched it every time I came in and went out, because it ached less to acknowledge him in a frequent, predictable way.
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Grief is many things of course, but yeah one part of the recipe is love with no place to go. Love, Disappointed, Stymied, or Stagnant without the object of the love to receive the expression. I'm pre-grieving now, I think, or is it just regular grief?
I know he loves me. Loves us. And there are cycles of life, and some go on when some stop, and also some begin.
I will be okay, eventually, and till it's time for him to really go, I'll continue to do what I can for him and count it an honor.
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I held her as long as she'd let me, and kissed her and told her she'd been the best cat I'd ever had.
When we went in, the vet agreed and I got to hold her, and kiss her and be there with her as she started on the path to the bridge.
I'm still a ball of raw emotion and I'm sorry that anyone has to feel this deep of a loss. I threw the no no tantrum Sunday night, Monday, Tuesday, and even as I held her as she died. I know that it was actually kinder than keeping her around as sick as she was. I still have that part of the brain that refuses to believe I told her "I release you" when all I wanted to do was keep her.
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My Otter is a good bit better, the vet changed his food and added a med and he's perking up and recovering. I need to give him the sub q hydration and he has another med I need to get my husband to help with, but he's hanging in there.
I need to make a new post about this.