Let's Get Personal: Part VI: My Cat Died & It Sucks

Saying goodbye. This picture was taken an hour before Charlie passed.

My cat died two days ago. I woke up on Saturday morning, went for a run, made my son pancakes, and made plans to spend the day at the pool. Instead of lounging poolside in my bright red swimsuit, I found myself sitting zombie-like, puffy eyed, and red nosed in a fluorescent lit animal ER exam room for hours as they examined and tested my ten year old cat, Charlie. Instead of sipping my snuck-into-the-pool-in-a-travel-mug sauvignon blanc, I was cradling my old friend in my arms, shedding tears and snot onto his soft fluffy body as the vet technician injected pentobarbital into his veins. Instead of listening to my son laugh and scream with delight as he practiced his cannonballs, I listened to my fur baby's labored and painful breathing finally come to an end.

I didn't see it coming. Charlie had slowly been losing weight but I didn't think much of it. I chalked it up to being active and maybe a little stress from the recent transition with my move. When his breathing started getting labored and he rapidly lost so much weight that he was pretty much a walking skeleton with fur, I knew something was wrong. It just happened so fast. Like one day he was fine (he got his semi-annual exam just last month and everything came back normal), then the next he's a shell of himself struggling to take breaths. It turns out (they think) that he had a slow growing tumor or polyp in his throat that had gone undetected and it finally got so big that he couldn't eat or breathe.

Snuggling with my son

Fuck, you guys. Losing my companion of ten years hit me Hard. With a capital H. Like, shockingly hard. And I get it. Some people won't understand. Some people will think, "It's just a cat" or "It's not that big of a deal. Try losing an actual human family member and then tell me how hard loss is". But this is my blog and my space and I'm writing whatever I'm feeling. And I'm feeling heartbroken. I'm feeling in shock.

Jake adored Charlie

My then-husband and I adopted him from the pound in Jacksonville, NC back in 2009 when he was nothing more than this little ball of rambunctious fluff that loved to make our life hell by meowing at ungodly hours in the night (little did we know he was just preparing us for life with a newborn). He became my first baby, and my companion during months of loneliness as my now ex-husband was training or deployed. He cuddled me when I felt scared and alone during my eating disorder. He was there when we adopted our dog, during the birth of our son, and countless moves and life changes. He became this constant presence in the background of my life. I didn't see him every day (he spent a lot of time roaming around outside...and honestly, I thought he would go by way of car or cat fight), but I always knew he was there. For him to just not be there anymore is going to take me some time to get used to.

He was more than a cat. He was my family. He symbolized the majority of my adult life (I was 23 when I got him). My son and my dog fell in love with him. My world seems a little less full with him not in it. On top of all of the huge life changes I've recently experienced, this just seems like a cruel twist of fate. I am trying to focus on the good times we had, and the wonderful life I know he enjoyed, and being grateful he's not in discomfort anymore. But today, I just need to be sad.

Goodbye, Charlie. I hope you're enjoying all of the catnip, Charlie treats, and outside roaming that your little heart desires. We love you.