2016 continues in it’s cruelty. Rest in Peace, Ali
2016 continues in it’s cruelty. Rest in Peace, Ali
Today, I lost my little friend.
I often see the phrase ‘I have no words‘ written after the death of someone important. I have plenty of words. Hundreds.
From that very first day when she pushed against my hand at the RSPCA centre she has been a huge support in my life, the only constant that has been with me for thirteen years. She’s seen me through my graduation, she sat on my lap when I typed up applications for job interviews and she celebrated with me when I got them, she was there when I began new relationships, she was there when they ended, she was there during the highest and lowest points of my life. She has moved house with me six times, taking every move in her little stride. We’ve seen in countless New Years, birthdays and Christmas’s together. She would chase me around the house with her stuffed toys, her eyes growing wider just before she was about to pounce. She was there when my family broke apart.
She was there.
When others have judged me, insulted me, put me down and dismissed me, she has been the one thing that has never failed to greet me after a bad day and show me unconditional love. Every night, as I got into bed, she would lay on me and give me a kiss goodnight before retiring to her own little bed in the corner of my room. If I cried, she would jump up and push her head against mine. She was always an independent soul and made it perfectly clear when she wanted to be left alone (I have the scars to prove it) and right to the very end her feisty nature and her hatred of the other cats never waned. She was funny, she had a quirky little personality and could never quite establish a normal miaow, instead creating something that resembled more of a squeak. Her presence allowed me the confidence to feel safe on my own in the house at night. She was my little safety net in times of darkness, and made the happy times seem so much brighter.
Some may role their eyes and proclaim that she was ‘just a cat.’ To me, she wasn’t just a cat, she was my company, my confidante, my family and at times she was my only friend.
She was there. She was mine.
I was with her in her last moments. At the age of nineteen I know that she had a good life, but that doesn’t make it any easier. I did everything I could for her and I know that she was happy and loved, but I wish that I could turn back the clock and live it all over again with her. I want to bring her home and protect her. I want to feed her, play with her, cuddle up with her, talk to her.
What I don’t know is how I am possibly going to do the rest without her.
Goodbye, my little friend. I’ll miss you forever.
You can also find me on Twitter and Tumblr @suzie81blog
Thank you so much for all the comments of support that I have received since publishing this post… Your messages have made me smile, made me cry and are helping me to come to terms with things.
The kidney infection is back, it has spread to my urinary tract and I am off work until the end of the week. I’ve been feeling ill and constantly tired since being in hospital, so I had blood and urine tests done and it was a relief to get the results back as now I had proof – it has felt at times that those around me thought that I was putting it on.
Wobbly is currently in the vets having a scan done on her stomach. I wrote about this a few months ago when it was suggested that she may have a tumour, but she improved and got my hopes up until recently when she stopped eating and rapidly lost a ton of weight.
I took her in at 8.30am and I have to wait until 2.00pm today for them to ring me. The waiting is horrible, particularly because my gut is telling me that I know what I have to do today if I get the results that I am expecting from them. At 19 years old (she’ll be 20 in a few weeks) I know that she’s had a long and happy life (she’s been with me for 13 years), so I have decided that I am not going to be selfish and put her through surgery, and I’m certainly not going to let her waste away just so that I can have a few more weeks with her. After everything that she has done for me over the years, she deserves better than that.
I’m distracted and don’t know what to do with the time. I’ve attempted to write several posts and have become disinterested quite quickly with them. I’ve tried to mark coursework but can’t focus. I’ve been for a walk to the shops. I’m half-watching Ina Garten instruct me on how to make a brownie pie, and I started searching around the web for interesting things to read, but I stopped when a horrific story of animal cruelty appeared – I can’t deal with that at the best of times and I’m certainly not in a place where I can deal with it today.
I’m completely lost.
Regardless of what happens today, I am going up to my mum’s house tomorrow for a few days. I need a break. I need to relax and sleep. I need to lie back and not worry about coursework, or house moves, or illness, or the fact that I’m going to lose the best friend I’ve ever had.
But for now, I’m just waiting…
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The minute she was released from her cage at the RSPCA centre, she walked over to me and pushed her head against my hand.
“I want her. Definitely this one.”
Two weeks later she arrived at my house and after she had finished exploring she promptly settled down on the back of the couch and went to sleep.
Since 2002 this bundle of fluff has been my constant in life, my little companion that has seen me through the best and the worst of times. When my parents went through a horrific divorce, she was there. She greeted me upon my return home after I graduated. She sat on my lap as I typed my CV and cover letter for my first job application, and celebrated with me when I was successful. She has assisted in many a late night marking session by chewing my pens, sitting on my books and batting my worksheets around the room. She was there when I started a new relationship and she was there when it ended. She’s attempted to eat Christmas dinner with me on many occasions, grumbling at me when she’s been removed from the table. She’s cheered my family and friends up when they’ve visited and has taken great delight in waking my mother up at 5.00am just so she can have breakfast, thanking her later by vomiting on the floor. She’s killed many a stuffed mouse, has turned golden retrievers ten times her size into cowering messes in the corner of the room and makes sure that the other two know who is boss. She’s stubborn and she’s a grumpy old mare.
Most importantly, she had loved me unconditionally and without judgement, jumping on me every night to wish me goodnight before going to her own bed. She has never put me down or made me feel bad about myself, always greeting me at the door with a chirp and expectations of a cuddle. When others have left me, she’s never failed to be there to remind me that there are more important things in life. She’s my little friend.
The vet says that she’s ill. It could be a tumour, feline leukaemia or cancer, but we won’t know until she’s had further tests. This isn’t allowed to happen – I can’t protect her from this.
The fact of the matter is that I’m simply not ready for her to leave me yet…
Note: Please forgive me for the lack of replies to your lovely comments… It’s been a ridiculously busy time but I wanted to say thank you very much for being so supportive…
It was 11am and I was hanging out of the lounge window, smoking a cigarette. My head was pounding from the consumption of my entire bodyweight in Sambuca shots the night before and my feet were swollen and sore from the ridiculously high heels that I had insisted on wearing, despite knowing that I would only last half an hour in them before I had to take them off. I had make-up smeared down my face, my hair was creating it’s own style and had managed to stick up all over the place at the back and to finish the whole ensemble I was sporting my enormous blue ‘Winnie The Pooh’ dressing gown. Gorgeous. I heard the door open and in walked one of my nine flatmates (I lived in a flat of ten at my university Halls of Residence). He’d been up early and was returning from the gym, as he always did at the weekend. He looked at me, smiled and said:
“Morning Bridget!” Continue reading
Those of you who follow my blog regularly will know that I adore my kitties. Unfortunately today I had some bad news. Daisy had been diagnosed with diabetes. I knew something was wrong earlier in the week when she started drinking and urinating excessively so I took her to the vets and she underwent extensive blood and urine tests. The results came back today and it was the worst possible outcome… She had three times the normal amount of sugar in her system and is now having to have twice daily insulin injections, which me and The Bloke are going to have to administer. I’m devastated that my little friend has got yet another thing wrong with her…
If any of you have any advice, I’d love some right about now… It’s certainly Friday 13th!!!
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