Grieving My Cat

Just a bit of forewarning, this writeup delves into some very heavy topics.

I just want to write this somewhere to vent my sorrow and to remember my amazing pet cat. I first met him on the night of October 5th / morning of October 6th this year, having arrived home from work with some food in tow. I'd never seen him before, but he was so friendly and curious about me that I shared a bit of my food with him. A bit of a french fry to see if he liked it (and he did). I sat on the concrete of my driveway and played with him for a short while since he seemed to like companionship like that. I recorded the start of my encounter with him and I'm so glad I did. It's so amazing to have that memory captured forever. Over the past two months, I've taken so, so many photos and videos of him, as has my sister. We both grew to love that amazing little cat more than anything. Even our dog was such a fan of him, though I can't say our cat was all that much of a fan of our dog at first (for maybe the first month). Eventually, even those two would lie around together and just enjoy what little warmth was left in the air as the autumn sun grew more and more distant and the days grew colder.

Our cat was an outside cat, as he had some bowel and nerve damage that likely made it so that he wasn't even aware of when he had movements. We got him this nice and roomy wooden cat house filled with hay (and in the last week or two, even an electric heating pad), which he grew to like only in his final couple weeks as the weather became too cold to ignore. We spent a lot of medication, food, and other necessities for him, because when he first showed up, he was in such miserable condition. Severely malnourished and atrophied, he would only lose more and more fur in his hind half as time went on. I was concerned about what would happen as winter became more and more harsh. 

In the beginning of taking him in and making sure something wouldn't happen to him, I purchased a tracking device meant for cats that hooked on to his collar. Using the plastic bracket to attach it to his collar, it came off twice that way due to the frailty of the plastic. Locating the tracker was honestly so difficult when that happened since its location tools for instances like that were very subpar. After that, I switched to using some sort of rubber or silicon holder that slid onto his collar, which itself had no failures. But it's worth noting our cat was a real scavenger and beggar. Some nights, he would go prowling the neighborhood streets for anything in the trash cans. He was a little trouble maker, even going into garages during the day and surprising people or sleeping under their cars. This was mainly in the first few weeks, before he really recognized our home as truly where he could be safe and cared for as long as he would allow us. I wonder how long he was on his own. In the initial vet visit at the start, we were told he was between 5 to 7 years old. I was surprised, honestly, because he was so small and frail, I figured he was maybe only 4 to 6 months old. The malnourishment must've been so severe. I'm so sorry that you had to live that way. I wish you could've always had a loving home. 

The first month for me was especially filled with such anxiety. I'd never owned a cat before, only dogs. And with him being an outside cat, I was extremely afraid of something happening to him. What if a big animal gets him? What if he hurts himself where I can't find him and he can't find us? What if he gets stuck in a trash can and collected? What if a car hits him in the middle of the road? What if he sleeps in the wrong place under my sister's car and she accidentally causes something gruesome? What if he stands in the way of the garage whenever my family or I leave? 

It was hard not to be on edge at any given moment. Whenever I got off work, I'd frantically make my way to my car to check my phone (as my job strictly prohibits BYOD to the point I have to leave my phone in my car) to look at the tracker updates. I'd be desperate to see if he was still in the neighborhood or if he was moving at all or if the tracker was even still charged. I was the only one who really ever charged his tracker, which had a life of a day or two at most, so it was a chore to make sure it was always working. I'd often charge it after work every other night and I'd bring my cat in the house inside his little carrier, and we'd watch Lost together. I'd never seen Lost before. He probably hadn't seen it before either, I guess. Wish we could've seen the ending together. I'd pet his adorable little head through the carrier and he'd nuzzle and purr all night long until 3 or 4 in the morning when I needed to really get some rest. I'd reattach his now-charged tracker and set him back outside. He'd always meow at me. You'd always find him at a door or near one, with how often he wanted in. Whenever I came home from work, especially as time went on, he'd come running off the back deck to come and see me. It became a little ritual of ours. I'd drive up, park, and he'd be waiting for me at the back door for me to pet him and hold him and maybe give him a little midnight snack. He became such an important part of my life in such a short span and we had so many consistent little interactions like that. 

The first night we ever met, he actually managed to make his way in behind me and run amok all throughout the house. That's how I learned that he doesn't react well to people who panic and chase him. He's a lot more relaxed if you're calm about approaching him, which is something my family didn't quite pick up for a while, because he broke in often, and for the first few times, they were always so obnoxious which made it even more difficult to snatch the little friend. I really wish we could've kept him inside, but they insisted his claws and bathroom issues would've been more trouble than it was worth. He always desperately wanted to come inside and be with us, even to his final night. That was part of why I'd bring him in with his carrier and watch TV with him, because I think we could both tell this was his home, where he belonged.

A lot of my initial anxiety with the idea of him being hit by a car springs from a memory earlier in my life. I couldn't tell you when exactly this transpired, but it was any time between 6 and 15 years ago. I was in the back seat, I think, with my dad driving. We were on the road straight toward my neighborhood right before an intersection, and a cat suddenly appeared before my dad hit it. It was a tragic enough experience from that alone, but he knew it wasn't going to make it just based on the hit he gave it, so he went back to roll over its head so that it could finally be at peace after what had just happened. It was horrifying to be in the car for that. I don't blame my dad for any of that, but I lament the cruelty of existence. Whenever I'm driving, I always see roadkill in varying forms. Whole bodies, squished bodies, decomposed husks, organs, and blood trails. All sorts of violent and disgusting viscera. I can't stand it. Sometimes, seeing that makes me cry. I've been driving for over a decade, and it was only recently that I myself hit something for the first time. I couldn't do anything for it and it feels cruel that I have to just accept that driving means I could kill an entire animal like that at any moment for literally no reason than needing to go to and from work. I know there are much deeper ethical and philosophical discussions to get into, but just that one on the surface eats at me. I can't stand hurting animals. I can't stand seeing animals in pain.

I realize a lot of this writing has been just as much about me as it is my cat, which somewhat shames me. I want everyone to remember my cat more than they do me, because he was the most amazing cat I've ever known. I want everyone to know how brave, hilarious, silly, friendly, ravenous, cute, and fun my little friend was when he walked this earth. I've been crying almost nonstop for two straight days now. I miss him. He didn't deserve the state I found him in. He deserved the world and so much more, and that's what I tried to give him.

On the morning of December 7th, I saw him on one of the chairs he liked to rest on. I didn't think much of it. I ate my breakfast and came back later to walk my dog, then realized he was gone off his spot. I called him but he didn't come or make any noise, which was strange. I looked around and spotted him nearly catatonic on the driveway, after nearly not recognizing him, thinking maybe he was a log. I picked him up, the poor thing, and he meowed at me a few times, but not really moving. The prior night, I'd come home same as usual and he visited me at the door like he always does and I even did the little fry thing again, sharing my food with him. I didn't watch TV with him though, and I don't know why. I watched TV that night. Why didn't I bring him in like I was used to? Why did I leave him there on his own? Why did that have to be his final night? I feel such guilt over this, even though I know I shouldn't. 

On his final day, the 7th, we took him to an emergency vet. I called off work in absolute tears knowing that this was likely the last day I would ever see my cat. I was there alongside my parents and my sister. We all surrounded him and showed him all the love we could as he sat there snuggled up on the vet's table. He was so unresponsive at this point. Not a sound. His heart was barely beating. We were all crying. He was family, how could we not cry? We spent all the time we could with him in his final moments. Apparently, he was so much older than we'd be told by the other vet at the other location when we'd first found him. How much older? We don't really know. Just that he'd been around for a lot longer than the 5 to 7 years we'd been told. But even then, we don't know what finally got the best of him. Was it his intestinal issues? Did he have heart problems? Did he have cancer? It could've been any number of things. The point stood however that his temperature was far too low to even read, something we'd been told by the vet was not a good sign, as they'd never seen any cat come back from that state. It had been such a drastic turn overnight that I never would've expected my cat to just be on death's door. But he was at that stage, so we had to make the decision to make sure he wouldn't suffer anymore. The vet told us that it would be two stages. An injection of a strong sedative to make sure he would be comfortable, followed by an IV to ensure his heart was stopped. We were warned that while the goal of the sedative was to simply put him at ease, it would likely also do the job of the IV without ever needing to use the IV, because of how weakened his state was. This ended up being the reality of the situation, as the sedative alone was enough to give him his final rest. Once they announced his heart had stopped, my entire world had stopped along with it. We all broke into such sobs that I'll never forget the pain of that wailing and loss. That was announced at 3:28 PM EST, with the injection having gone in at 3:12 PM EST, exactly ten minutes after they'd checked that his heart was still beating to begin with. I know he was happy in his final months, I just wish I could've done more than let him meet his inevitable end like this. I know everyone and everything dies eventually, but was he really so beyond saving that nothing we could've done would've saved him? I guess so... 

They gave us some tufts of his fur as well as some imprints of his paw prints. They put him in some sort of special bag since we decided to bury him at home. He belongs here, with us, on the land he came to love. I picked the spot we buried him. It was right beside the fields he loved to roam. We didn't even own those fields, but I'd walk them with him nonetheless, because he's my cat and that's where he wanted to go. I wonder if he was hunting rodents out there. I buried him with my own hands. I miss him so much. I love him with all my heart. I want to hope there's some sort of Heaven or pleasant afterlife or anything at all just because I want to see him again. I want to see him again so badly. I want him to be someplace happy while he waits for the rest of us, not that someone like me deserves a place like that. I'll love and miss you forever and ever. You weren't in my life for long, but you became my family nonetheless. I don't want to forget you. I want to remember all your silly little antics like climbing up the screen door on the back porch, or staking out near doors so that you could bolt in whenever we opened them, or the way you sat near the back door or garage door just waiting for me when I got home. You were always waiting for someone to spend time with you, and I really did try. I tried so hard to provide for you. I can't stop crying. Sleep tight, you're home. Just wait for me, however long it takes. Thank you to anyone else reading this. My cat was the best cat in the world.