............... I don't know where to begin, so I'll just give it a go. Today, I buried one of my best friends of over 13 years. To most people, he was only a large grey cat, one of two I kept for company in my house.
To me, he was my furry friend and confidant; my best buddy no matter what. He helped me through many trials in my life, several moves, the loss of my father, the start-up of my business, the loss of nearly everything I owned. Never a clue that he had anything going on wrong inside.
Had to put him in the vet to look after him for the week I was out of town attending the show below that flopped so bad. Got him back, and the vet said he needed his teeth cleaned, nothing more. Took him in a few days later, to have that done. Vet said everything went fine; but my furry friend was still groggy and not responding well hours after I got him home.
Next morning, early, I find my furry friend sprawled on the floor, unresponsive and limp. Rushed him back to the vet. He managed to stand up -barely - once there, but was still not himself, unresponsive, zombie-like. Inside, I feared the worst. Vet did blood tests, listened to his heart, an IV, and kept him, all findings normal - only my friend was NOT himself, not responding, not well at all. No infection, nothing seemed wrong,.....
Hours later, vet calls. All tests say my furry friend is fine, but he isn't. He's doing worse, for no apparent reason. I brace for more bad news. Vet to keep him overnight.
A little while later, I look up from what I'm doing, feeling an odd emptiness. I whispered aloud, "Smootch, I love ya, little man, and I want you home, well and happy and healthy; but if you can't come home to me like that - can't come home able to live and enjoy life, then I guess it's best if you go ahead and move on to the next life. I'm NOT ready to let ya go, but I want you to be happy. I'll miss ya, little man. But move on to the next life if you need to."
An hour later - maybe less - vet calls again. My furry friend fell asleep,..... and died. Quietly. Peacefully. In no apparent pain or distress. I already knew it, but the confirmation was the last straw. I agreed to the autopsy - his brother, same litter, also lives in my house - and set up when to pick up my furry friend's little body. Then, I hung up the phone.
Some time later, the phone rings - and a HUMAN friend picked it up for me. Autopsy results. My furry friend's heart looked normal and fine from outside, and never showed any problems. BUT, inside, the walls were exceedingly thick, making the internal chambers very small. After 13 years and more, his heart couldn't take any more. The only way anyone - vet included - could have known, was to have done an ultrasound on his heart - but why would they do that, when there was no apparent reason to? There was nothing anyone could have done to prevent his death. Otherwise, he was very healthy for his age.
I dug his grave myself, in the rain. Inside, I'm howling in grief. Outside, I'm trying to hold back the tears. My grief is a private thing.
Meanwhile, my OTHER furry friend, his brother, is doing fine - after having two molars removed and a mammary cist excised - by the SAME vet, at the same time. Smootch is dead, Bitey is fine,.... and I'm an emotional wreck.
Being a guy, I'm not suppossed to break down and cry over anything - so I go off alone, and let my grief out.
I HAD another small show this weekend, but the death and funeral of my furry friend comes first, so screw the show.
I got his body from the vet this morning, frozen and wrapped up in blue plastic, a hard, heavy, featureless rectangle. I took him and laid him into the little grave, wrapping the bundle in an old t-shirt, with some cat nip and a hand-made glazed ceramic box filled with some of his favorite things. I said my farewells as I covered him, taking care in the rain to pack down the rocky soil as best I could. Tomorrow, I will make his headstone, a ceramic stoneware piece to lay atop his grave and mark his passing. Today, I have turned off my phone, locked my doors, and cancled my plans so I can mourn in private.
Outside my front door, there is a small female black kitten with white toes and whiskers, waiting to get inside my heart and my home. She was born this summer, to a grey and white stray long-haired queen, and is the only surviving kitten from the litter. I call her Moto. When my greif relents, and when Bitey seems to be feeling lonely, I will bring her inside to stay; taking her for shots, et al, and let her help fill the void Smootch's passing has created.
Life goes on; whether we want it to or not. I will always miss Smootch. But Moto needs a home, and my home needs a second cat.