Disclaimer: If you don’t like reading sad things, skip this post. I try to keep this blog happy, but it is also my space to get things off my chest. I don’t like to talk about my feelings/ problems in person, so writing this is to help me cope with a loss.
P.S. I apologize for being super absent in the blog world recently. I just haven’t had the energy/time to be present.
If you follow me on Instagram, then you probably know that my cat passed last week- actually 1 week from today. Unless you’re an animal/pet person, it’s hard to understand this type of loss. The way I see it, I lost a best friend.
Some of you may think I’m being dramatic, and that’s okay. I do me, and you do you. I’m the type of person that talks to her pets and thinks of them as my babies. But I know many people don’t feel that way.
I’ve had this kitty since I was 7 years old. We essentially grew up together. She may have grew older than me, but she was my baby and I was her mama.
We adopted Snickers from a local animal feed store. The day my rabbit died, I apparently wouldn’t stop crying. My dad couldn’t take it any more so he told my mom that we had to find me something. Anything. My mom started calling around to find out if anyone had kittens. She randomly called our local feed shop and they happened to get a kitten that day. I call it fate because this feed shop doesn’t typically carry animals (only sometimes chicks and ducks). But serendipitously, some little boy had found Snickers –> his dad let him keep her –> they didn’t tell mom –> mom made them get rid of her. Their loss, my gain.
This is Snickers the day we brought her home.
She was a tiny little thing that could fit in the palm of your hand!
Snickers started out as the family kitty, but quickly became my pet.
She only came when I called her- she ran from everyone else.
She greeted me at the front door whenever I came home.
She showered with me. Yep. Not so much in her later years, but for most of her life, she would follow me to the bathroom and when I would open the shower door (after the water was warm of course- mama didn’t raise no dummy), she would hop on in.
We played fetch together. Yes. She actually chased after whatever I threw (usually a large hair band), picked it up with her mouth, and brought it back to my lap.
Without fail, she would sit on my lap within 5 minutes of me sitting/laying down. She could be asleep in a closet somewhere, but if I sat down on the couch, my bat signal must have turned on and BAM she was there. She had to sit on my books and keyboard as I studied. She would sit behind me, on my chair, when I ate dinner. I always thought this was funny, but now it is the thing I miss more than anything.
I could go on and on about how much time we spent together over the years, but I think you get the picture- we were close.
This was taken the day before she passed. And she pulled my hand there.
Back in February, we found out she had a tumor in her small intestines. You can read the full details here, but basically there was not much we could do but prolong the inevitable. The vet thought she would only last a month, tops, so I guess you could say I’m lucky? I knew we were in for a battle and I knew I had to treasure every moment I had with her.
My philosophy with pets is that if they get sick, I will fight that battle along side them no matter what, until they give up and decide it is their time. It is not my place to keep a pet alive if they no longer want that for themselves.
Snickers hadn’t given up yet. So, we fought on.
I bought her every brand and flavor of canned cat food to keep her always wanting more food. She ate >5x/day, but still lost weight. We started giving her subcutaneous fluids to help her kidneys out. And we took her in for cortisone injections (helps with the tumor).
About a week before her passing, I could tell Snickers wasn’t doing well. And last week (the week she passed), she still wanted to eat and drink, she just had a hard time doing so. She grew weaker and weaker, but still wanted to be fed if it was by hand.
Thursday the 7th. She hardly wanted to move. She was incredibly weak. And she no longer wanted food. Somehow I knew that Friday would be her last day.
We spent Thursday afternoon and evening cuddling on my bed. She had the strength to crawl on to one of her favorite spots to lay on me, my neck. And that night I let her sleep on my bed.
At around 2 AM, I heard her jump off the bed. She tried to get up and was unsuccessful. She was trying to hide from me.
(A lot of times, pets/animals will run away or hide to die. It’s instinctual.)
I knew she was leaving to go pass on her own. I picked her up and knew she only had minutes left. I placed her in my lap, and pet her and told her it was okay and that I love her. No tears were shed. Animals can sense fear. I did not want to her be scared. She took her last breath. I continued to pet her until I was sure she was gone. Then I wrapped her up in a towel that my grandma had made me. And then I started sobbing uncontrollably.
I was so loud that I woke my mom up. She comforted me until Kyle came over. I’m fairly certain I cried myself to sleep that night.
Friday day was unbelievably hard. I stayed in bed and barely ate/drank (only when forced to). I felt like things would never get better and I never wanted another pet. I just kept playing her death over and over and over in my head. Was there something more I could have done? Should I have put her down on Thursday? Did she suffer? Am I selfish?
Saturday was the same, except for a run. I needed to run. I wanted to dedicate it to Snickers, but 17 miles (her age) would have been stupid as my body has not trained for such a distance. 7 miles, the age I got her, it was.
7 brutal miles. Many tears shed. I felt weak the entire run. I don’t even remember a run being that hard. Maybe when I first started running? I spent those miles thinking about all the good memories we had together, trying to force Friday’s horrible images out of my head.
Here we are, a week later. I still miss her so much. It’s when I’m either doing nothing, or doing routine things that really bums me out- when I open the front door and she’s not there, when I shower and she’s not in between the 2 curtains, and when I sit down on the couch and no one comes to jump in my lap.
That being said, I’m doing much better. I keep busy and it forces me not to think about it. I’ve lost 2 dogs growing up, so I know eventually the pain goes away. Slowly, I’ll accept that she’s gone and at peace. Slowly.
