F2020

This is a difficult feeling to confront, but I want to at least get some of it out of my head and my heart. Anyone that knows me knows that I love cats. I have two of them, Stoney and Muffin. We had to put Stoney to sleep on Saturday and I'm emotionally wrecked. I had spent almost a week with Seth and was sad to leave his house. I ended up crying in his arms because I was so sad to leave. But then I got home and was told that Stoney wasn't doing well health wise and that the vet recommended he be put down. We all agreed that it was time. He was about 14 years old and lived a good life. We found a mass in his abdomen a couple years ago but he's been receiving medications twice a day that my mom and I would administer. All things considered he did extremely well and responded to the meds for a long time. But sometimes enough is enough. Pretty much as soon as I left the house he stopped eating and drinking. He started vomiting and pooping all over the place, which was extremely out of character. He was always the typical neat cat that constantly groomed him and took pride in his appearance. He had the softest tummy fur I've ever felt. So we knew that something was wrong. My parents didn't tell me when I was away because they wanted me to enjoy my time and have fun. I appreciate it a lot but I also hate it. I wanted to be there for his last days but I wasn't. I keep telling myself that it's for the best and he wouldn't want me seeing him like that. I came home on a Friday only to find out we had appointment not even 24 hours later to put him down. I spent as much time as I could with him. I brought him upstairs so we could sleep together one last time. He slept on the corner of the bed and I kept looking at him hoping that tomorrow he would be normal again and we could call it off. Of course that was completely unrealistic, but it was a fleeting sense of hope. I spent his last day working right next to him. It was inconvenient and not the most comfortable, but I wanted him to know I was there and that I loved him. I cried a bit during the day but sucked it up. Eventually we went to the vet and it happened. I held him in a fluffy blue blanket and snuggled him close so he knew I was with him. I made sure to gently stroke his head until he went. It's extremely hard putting him down because he's been like an emotional support animal for me for over a decade. He's been my best friend for a very long time. When we came home I took the small blanket my mom had knit for him and threw it in the trash. Not 5 minutes later I took it out and put it up in my room. It still has his fur all over it and smells like him. I keep it next to me in bed because it's comforting in a way. I'm not ready to let go of him yet. I still have my other cat, but I think she's figured out by now that he's no longer in the house. It breaks my heart. I haven't had a truly intense crying session yet because I know I'm repressing things. I don't want to face the reality of him never coming back. I'll never wake up in the night to him sleeping on my head or hear his grumbly meows when he was hungry. I'm starting to fall into a depression and I can feel it. I'm having a hard time eating and drinking, and showering is also difficult. I find myself staring off into nowhere completely unaware of what I was even thinking about. I want to move on as painlessly as possible but it's so difficult. I don't want to forget him, but I also don't want to harbor sadness for the rest of my life. This whole depression thing may sound blown out of proportion or overly dramatic, but anyone who's had to put a pet down will understand. It's traumatic, and it's something I'm working through. I'm seeing my psychiatrist on Saturday to hopefully get a little help with things. In the mean time I'll only drop one song because it embodies exactly how I feel right now.

F2020