The following is a vent of my grief. The bitchy tone in some parts is in no way directed to my friends here at SG. They are directed to a-holes in my real-time life.
** Sad news about my cat Beau Beau ** (x-posted in the kitties group)
I've put off writing this as long as I can.
Let me just say, I don't want to get stupid comments like
"You can get another one, right?"
or
"Time will ease your pain."
Both are true statements, but seem to be said by people who are shallow and insensitive. So, stop it. And start respecting my grief.
(And, by the way, you DON'T know how I feel.)
My fur baby of 17 years died on Jan 1st, 2007. He is gone, and I am devastated.
Beau Beau has been the longest relationship in my life so far. He and his adopted sister, Martina (also 17 years old, and still with me), are the only beings that I've ever truly trusted. (I will speak of only Beau now since he is the one this entry is about...)
Beau gave me unconditional love when no one else would. He accepted me with all my flaws, comforted me when I cried, did not abandon me (as everyone in my blood family has), and gave me someone to care about, when in my 20's, I contemplated leaving this earth. We understood each other; we spoke the same language. Now he is gone.
There is now a huge empty spot in my heart and soul. I keep thinking I hear him meow his "I want to eat NOW" meow. I accidentally call my other cats by his name. I find myself start to go find him, and then remember he is not here anymore.
He was my "big beefy boy". He taught me that cats can be sweet old gay drag queens. He showed me that it's not just humans that have eating disorders.
He never ever wanted to stop cuddling first. He laid on my back or my head just to pin me down with his snuggles, because he knew I wouldn't have the heart to disturb him. He taught me how to play with string and appreciate the value of cat treats. He showed me how a cat grows old gracefully, even with an extra waxy right ear and a bad case of creaky bones. He taught me that whatever flavor of cat food I bought, it was never quite right.
He taught me that such a great love has a price of great pain. He taught me that the trade-off, even though torturous, is worth it.
He was getting older, and sicker. He was still not in pain, but I knew the time was going to be soon.
On Dec 31, 2006, at 11:15pm, he had a huge (and terrifying) seizure. It was the first he ever had. I held him, and tried not to panic, softly crying his name and telling him he was ok, over and over, until it stopped. He seemed very dazed for a few minutes, and wobbly on his legs. After gaining some steadiness, he somehow ate his food (Beau was never one to say no to a meal, no matter what was going on). I ran to the phone and called Brian (who was working grave shift) and had him come home.
As I got dressed to take Beau to the emergency vet, I heard neighbors cheer. It was midnight. It was the New Year, and my heart was breaking.
We gathered Beau up and rode with the carrier open, so I could pet him and talk to him. He was so lovey the whole way. It hurt so badly to know this would be the last time with him, the last scritch behind the ears, the last kisses on his head.
After we arrived at the vet, I insisted that he be checked out, even though I knew in my heart that it was finally "time". I just wanted to hear a doctor say it. I was so scared that I would make a mistake, make the wrong decision. The doctor assured me that it was "not unreasonable" with that tone that says, "I think you should put him to sleep".
The wait for the doctor was long enough to already have said our goodbyes, so we only had to wait 15 minutes or so for them to prepare him for the injection. I thought I was going to have a panic attack. These people do this all the time. I wanted them to be gentle, to be respectful, to be loving. They made me leave the room while they put in the catheter, but compromised by doing it in the exam room instead of moving him to the back.
Beau was relaxed, even napping some of the time. Brian says he knew why we were there and was ready to go. He had sleepy-cat-blinky-eyes, and purred contentedly the whole time. He looked at me from time to time, ever mellow and peaceful. I stayed as calm as I could for him (and for me and Brian, too).
They finally got him situated, and asked if we were ready. The doctor came in and I cried and quietly begged him to please be gentle and do it slowly, so it wouldn't shock or scare him. And he did.
I saw his sweet baby kitty soul leave his body. His eyes went blank in seconds. His body tightened a little, and then he let go. A few seconds later, he breathed his last beautiful breath.
The staff let us have more time saying goodbye, one last time. Brian sobbed on his knees, and tears streamed down my face as I went emotionally numb. I stroked both Beau and Brian's heads, and would've given anything to hear that low rumbling purr in Beau's throat again just for a minute. All I could say was "I'm sorry" and "I love you" and "You're free now".
We wrapped him in a fluffy, colorful towel I picked out, knowing it would stay with him. The vet assistant helped us put his body in a bag and then back into the cardboard carrier. We took his body home. His regular vet was closed on the 1st and I didn't want to leave him with strangers.
We took him to his regular vet on Jan 2nd, and made arrangements to have his body cremated and returned to us. I will sleep with his box in my arms.
I miss you, Beau. I love you and my soul aches horribly for you inflict claw pokes during paw biscuits, and to nuzzle my ear again with your cold nose and warm heart.
** Sad news about my cat Beau Beau ** (x-posted in the kitties group)
I've put off writing this as long as I can.
Let me just say, I don't want to get stupid comments like
"You can get another one, right?"
or
"Time will ease your pain."
Both are true statements, but seem to be said by people who are shallow and insensitive. So, stop it. And start respecting my grief.
(And, by the way, you DON'T know how I feel.)
My fur baby of 17 years died on Jan 1st, 2007. He is gone, and I am devastated.
Beau Beau has been the longest relationship in my life so far. He and his adopted sister, Martina (also 17 years old, and still with me), are the only beings that I've ever truly trusted. (I will speak of only Beau now since he is the one this entry is about...)
Beau gave me unconditional love when no one else would. He accepted me with all my flaws, comforted me when I cried, did not abandon me (as everyone in my blood family has), and gave me someone to care about, when in my 20's, I contemplated leaving this earth. We understood each other; we spoke the same language. Now he is gone.
There is now a huge empty spot in my heart and soul. I keep thinking I hear him meow his "I want to eat NOW" meow. I accidentally call my other cats by his name. I find myself start to go find him, and then remember he is not here anymore.
He was my "big beefy boy". He taught me that cats can be sweet old gay drag queens. He showed me that it's not just humans that have eating disorders.
He never ever wanted to stop cuddling first. He laid on my back or my head just to pin me down with his snuggles, because he knew I wouldn't have the heart to disturb him. He taught me how to play with string and appreciate the value of cat treats. He showed me how a cat grows old gracefully, even with an extra waxy right ear and a bad case of creaky bones. He taught me that whatever flavor of cat food I bought, it was never quite right.
He taught me that such a great love has a price of great pain. He taught me that the trade-off, even though torturous, is worth it.
He was getting older, and sicker. He was still not in pain, but I knew the time was going to be soon.
On Dec 31, 2006, at 11:15pm, he had a huge (and terrifying) seizure. It was the first he ever had. I held him, and tried not to panic, softly crying his name and telling him he was ok, over and over, until it stopped. He seemed very dazed for a few minutes, and wobbly on his legs. After gaining some steadiness, he somehow ate his food (Beau was never one to say no to a meal, no matter what was going on). I ran to the phone and called Brian (who was working grave shift) and had him come home.
As I got dressed to take Beau to the emergency vet, I heard neighbors cheer. It was midnight. It was the New Year, and my heart was breaking.
We gathered Beau up and rode with the carrier open, so I could pet him and talk to him. He was so lovey the whole way. It hurt so badly to know this would be the last time with him, the last scritch behind the ears, the last kisses on his head.
After we arrived at the vet, I insisted that he be checked out, even though I knew in my heart that it was finally "time". I just wanted to hear a doctor say it. I was so scared that I would make a mistake, make the wrong decision. The doctor assured me that it was "not unreasonable" with that tone that says, "I think you should put him to sleep".
The wait for the doctor was long enough to already have said our goodbyes, so we only had to wait 15 minutes or so for them to prepare him for the injection. I thought I was going to have a panic attack. These people do this all the time. I wanted them to be gentle, to be respectful, to be loving. They made me leave the room while they put in the catheter, but compromised by doing it in the exam room instead of moving him to the back.
Beau was relaxed, even napping some of the time. Brian says he knew why we were there and was ready to go. He had sleepy-cat-blinky-eyes, and purred contentedly the whole time. He looked at me from time to time, ever mellow and peaceful. I stayed as calm as I could for him (and for me and Brian, too).
They finally got him situated, and asked if we were ready. The doctor came in and I cried and quietly begged him to please be gentle and do it slowly, so it wouldn't shock or scare him. And he did.
I saw his sweet baby kitty soul leave his body. His eyes went blank in seconds. His body tightened a little, and then he let go. A few seconds later, he breathed his last beautiful breath.
The staff let us have more time saying goodbye, one last time. Brian sobbed on his knees, and tears streamed down my face as I went emotionally numb. I stroked both Beau and Brian's heads, and would've given anything to hear that low rumbling purr in Beau's throat again just for a minute. All I could say was "I'm sorry" and "I love you" and "You're free now".
We wrapped him in a fluffy, colorful towel I picked out, knowing it would stay with him. The vet assistant helped us put his body in a bag and then back into the cardboard carrier. We took his body home. His regular vet was closed on the 1st and I didn't want to leave him with strangers.
We took him to his regular vet on Jan 2nd, and made arrangements to have his body cremated and returned to us. I will sleep with his box in my arms.
I miss you, Beau. I love you and my soul aches horribly for you inflict claw pokes during paw biscuits, and to nuzzle my ear again with your cold nose and warm heart.
VIEW 3 of 3 COMMENTS
I know how close you are to your cats and doggie. It's SO hard to lose one. All your pets and Brian are really lucky to have someone like you in their lives.
Take care and be good to yourself.
-Simon
(Michael)