I lost my cat.
It’s been 2 days. I thought I would write this now, hoping that I can release even a tiny bit of pain (though I believe I will hold on to it for the rest of my life because I deserve it). I just really want to write it down, feel the words on my fingertips, pour the thoughts out in my head and pour it in between words.
She had been with us for only 8 months, but I feel so empty. It is a different kind of empty than what I am used to. It feels like a part of me got ripped, and it will be forever ripped, irreplaceable. It will never be filled. It is not like the void that is just empty, hollow, like the space. This kind of emptiness I am feeling right now is probably like a river that stopped flowing.
I knew she had always been different, weak even. She usually had colds that I didn’t really pay attention to. I thought she always recovered anyway. Two months since we got her, there was a time that she couldn’t walk, all of a sudden. It lasted for two to three days, but when I was about to send her to the vet, she just became okay. So I never really sent her to the vet, until last Saturday.
She lost weight (even though she still ate a lot) and she was already having a hard time walking. I didn’t want to bring her. She always panicked when she heard loud noises outside; she always stayed indoors with me. She hated the sound of passing cars and kids playing outside. She found her peace inside, calm and contented as long as she was home with us. I remember one time when she wandered near the bakery here, and she couldn’t go back to us because she was so scared so she hid behind the plants. We had to pick her up and carry her home. She was always scared.
I knew I should not have brought her to the vet.
I was told that I had to left her in the clinic. They put dextrose on her. The vet said that due to weight loss, it must be why she was losing her balance. If she gained strength after 24h with the dextrose, then we only had to give her vitamins. If not, they had to go through some laboratory tests on her.
I watched how she cried when they injected her. I kept calling her name, so she knew I was there. I couldn’t touch her, though. I couldn’t do anything. I wanted them to stop, but I was thinking that maybe it was for the better. Maybe, with it, she would be strong again. I stayed to see it all until they put her inside the cage, her home until I fetch her the next day. I bid her goodbye.
I didn’t know it would be the last.
I went home. I stayed up all night thinking if I did the right thing leaving her. Until I came to a decision that I would bring her home regardless of what the vet would say. I wouldn’t let her go through any laboratory tests. I would just stay with her no matter what, that’s what I thought.
Sunday came. I prepared her favorite food, boiled chicken breast. I was excited to see her, praying that she has regained strength so we could go home in peace.
I went there, and they were handing me a box. A BOX.
It didn’t register with me at first. They showed me a video of her. She was shaking, a seizure? I don’t know. They said she had a virus, a cat virus I don’t understand and can’t even remember what. They said the seizure happened thrice. I was like, “okay, but she never had seizures before.” She just always kind of went frantic when she was scared, I thought it’s nothing serious?
After the video, I said how could she breathe inside the box when it is taped. They said, “Oh, she’s dead.”
I don’t remember anything much after that.
But I remember so well how the box weighed more than I expected. She was only 2 kilos, they said. The box felt like the whole world collapsed on my hands.
I have lots of thoughts. I should not have left her there. If she’s sick, it would be better if we are all at home, right? But she was alone when it happened. I wasn’t there to hold her hand. I wasn’t there to let her know it would be okay. I wasn’t there for her at all.
My mother said that if I didn’t take her to the vet, it would just prolong her struggle to walk, to get by. But at least she was with us, right? She would probably be still alive now, despite her weakness. I know, it sounds selfish. But I just really want to be with her, but I wasn’t.
She always slept on my stomach, maybe why I have this hollow feeling there. I don’t know when the pain would stop.
She always wanted to go out at midnight. Sometimes, around 2 in the morning. I watched the moon while she enjoyed herself outside. I think she loved that it was peaceful, unlike at day time.
I think it will take a while before I stop crying looking at the moon now.
I just… really miss her.
What if I wasn’t the one who adopted her? What if she had another owner?
I wish I was better for her, but I wasn’t.