I didn’t think I could survive without my cat Snowy. I am. I am doing good. Again.

(Another great weight has lifted in this “See how long this serf can survive” life.)

There is a comfort in knowing that I was not making him sick because of my illnesses. That I had been caring for a terminally ill fur baby.

In the final section I would like to tell you about Snowy’s last night with me. This is how I want to remember him. Us comforting each other. Him lying against my shoulder or laying on my chest.

* * *

In this blog post

• I mourned him before

• I don’t need to cry/ I’m not going to force my self to cry

• Small summary of his last night and day if you can’t handle details

• I’ll share honestly about what led me to get him to the vet.

• Remembering him with comfort / Mummy’s got you, and, It’s ok you can go now

* * *

I mourned him before

At times over his twelve years, like when he ran away and after bad cat fights, I grieved and said goodbye to him. Stepped into letting him not exist. Some of you would call it morbid. I know, I have heard it before, from your mouths. I will tell you something – when THE time came that he wouldn’t be in my life, I was more ready than I thought.

I was sobbing when I gave the order to euthanise him. Within 10 minutes though, I felt calmer. My mind shifted state. “Everyone feels better after crying” you say. Don’t patronise me. Let me continue…

I had clarity on what to do. Clean. I started, then kept on going. I dissociated when the cleaning-rage came upon me. I was not going to deal with that. I cleaned, remarkably almost free from physical pain. I guess my mind shut that down, as a survival mechanism.

This week and a bit’s more-than-usual clarity must be like having ADD medicine (that works for you). Yesterday was a battle practicing mindfulness when freaking out, trying to reach the mailbox. But without my thoughts slipping away every few seconds. Every 5 seconds perhaps, ha!

In stark contrast to this clarity visiting, I can feel (what I only knew the effects of) the brain confusion of these past years. Thoughts slipping away while I am concentrating. Leaving food out of the fridge. Forgetting to take my tablets even as I refill a cup. Mental processes stopping and leaving me defenceless against my emotions. It is infuriating.

It’s been just over a week. The calmness and clarity are still here a lot. I have cried a few times. Literally three times. Comforted myself with his collar and a fur jacket too. I am at peace with his passing. I did everything I could to give him a good life. To make sure he knew he was loved.

I’m not going to force myself to cry

As with my father when he died – I mourned him a long time beforehand. Right now, I can’t bring myself to force tears for Snowy either. I’m all cried out.

For the writers among you, I saw a YouTube lecture with Brandon Sanderson this week, which may help if you can’t imagine what I’m feeling. He said something like (paraphrasing) There are some writers who spend years world building and story building. Sometimes, when it comes time to write the book/s, they cannot. In their mind, the book is already finished.

For the people who love (or like me, used to love) having detailed goals, maybe you will get this – I can be like a workaholic – dedicated, intentional, and also daydreaming my way through different scenarios. Partway through a project or goal, I would lose all steam. Puff. All motivation would be gone. Sometimes, maybe, I have done the work and put in the emotional effort and felt my intentioned goal that often that my mind thinks I have achieved it.

I’ve digressed.

In the next section I’ll share honestly about what led me to get him to the vet.

In the final section I would like to tell you about Snowy’s last night with me. This is how I want to remember him. Us comforting each other. Him lying against my shoulder or laying on my chest.

His last night and day, In summary

Last Sunday night, I said goodbye to him again. Knowing he had to see a vet. That was all I knew. I cuddled him, then told him he can go. Thanked him for being my friend and loving me. Later I fell asleep with my hand held against his back.

Comforting Snowy on his last night and being bitter about how I was barely surviving are co-existing.

On Monday morning, I had the vet pick him up. I could not leave the house. I thought I was being neglectful. I asked them to fix him and rehome him. “I can’t look after both of us. I am not well”.

The vet passed on a comforting message. Cancer. He would have stopped eating anyway. In his own time. I asked for him to be euthanised. There was no way I was going to prolong what he must have been suffering.

The nurse shared with me, when I worried about how much he must have been meowing over there – I keep telling him your mummy loves you. I can tell.

Getting sicker, then gone

My little baby is dead. He must have been scared in the final hours, at the vet. He hates the vet – travelling in a car, certainly. I hope the sedation the vet gave him kicked in. I can still picture him yowling, like when I called another vet while he was there for surgery.

Thankfully The nurse shared with me, as I was signing the euthanasia paperwork, when I worried about how much he must have been meowing over there – I keep telling him your mummy loves you. I can tell.

He’d been going off his biscuits since November. I thought it was a teeth problem. I made a few appointments but could not leave the house. Various reasons. Money. Agrophobia. No supports.

By the end of December, I knew he was very sick. I’d discovered where he had been throwing up outside. That was a shock to the system. I hadn’t been outside in a while. I kept him in the house, thinking the grass was causing it. Nope. He was throwing up 2-3 times a day. I researched cats throwing up a lot, and cats throwing up yellow bile and foam. I thought it was probably a massive fur ball that needed to be removed by surgery. I called the vet, applied for Vet Pay, and dreaded leaving the house.

Their pandemic rules – you have to stay in your car until called in – wouldn’t work. I don’t have a car. I pictured myself getting sunstroke, waiting for ages to be called in – first for the nurse, then for the vet. On Monday morning, I had the vet pick him up. I could not leave the house. I thought I was being neglectful. I asked them to fix him and rehome him. “I can’t look after both of us. I am not well”. There were piles of trash around the home.

Mummy’s got you, and, It’s ok you can go now

The final night was another in his twelve years where I didn’t expect him to make it through the night. For a while – longer than I had done lately – I held him against my shoulder, him clutching any time I went to put him down. He’d lost weight again. The poor thing was not well, at all.

I kept saying “I’ve got you. Mummy’s got you.” When I sat down, to help my aching back, I was telling him I loved him. That I knew he was sick. Very sick. That he’ll get to see the doctor soon. They’ll make him better.

I loved him. He was my baby. My big beautiful baby boy. I told him that. That mummy loves Snowy. Then that Snowy loves mummy. That’s when I started crying. To feel loved… It’s rare. I held him close, enveloping him in an arm and my chin. “Thank you for loving mummy. Thank you for being my friend.”

Finally, I had to put him down. I put him in my old office chair next to me. That’s Snowy’s chair now, I promised him. I comforted him for a bit, until he’d settled in. Went back to my computer. I looked over at some point, and he was lying there, head on his paws, staring off into the distance. For lack of a better word, he looked sad. I told him, not for the first time this year, that its ok. He can go. He can go sleepies. It’s ok, mummy will be fine. You have a good sleep. I didn’t expect him to wake up. He did sleep. Just a nap.

Once he woke up, he crawled onto my lap. He was soo demanding in those final weeks.  I was losing my mind. My temper too. I yelled at him and begged him to leave me alone far more than ever before.

But I had to comfort him. I think that is when I took him to bed. He slept up near my head. I fell asleep with my hand held against his back, to his purring.