I went to visit Charlotte yesterday. To say goodbye. Tyler went with me. It was the hardest thing I’ve had to deal with in a long, long, time. Seeing her there looking up at you with her big green eyes, and watching her stomach twitch to the beat of an old pocket watch, picturing the parts inside her all quivering in an unhealthy tick, yet that pain wasn’t reflected in her eyes. All that was reflecting was my face, and it sent me into a brief montage of flashbacks of her when she was three weeks old and was found downtown, and I was able to save her by giving her a home. Soon, I found that somehow there was a soul behind the eyes of this cat, and you may think I’m crazy, but I swear there were moments in her life in which she knew what I was talking about, or understood my moments of melancholy.
Nonetheless, she’s dead now, and there’s nothing I can do about it but think about these times and be angry at whatever higher power there is for taking her from me. She only had two and a half good years and then it was all gone. She was my companion. And not in the crazy cat lady sort of way who has five cats and doesn’t talk to people, and lives vicariously through her relationships with animals. No, I love people, but Charlotte was always there when I got home, and I was responsible for her, for this life I had saved. She’s dead now. There’s no denying it but it still hasn’t hit me. I can’t imagine what death can be like for so many. I have dealt with human death, and it is so very tragic, but a pet’s death seems different. This pet’s life is in your hands, and it is your decision to end it based on the opinions of doctors. They don’t have a say. And it breaks my heart.
So, day two of mourning, less tears but more depression: that heaviness resting on your chest and unwillingness to accept any hint of motivation. I’ve been here before, but there’s no solving it with this one, because she’s not coming back. I hate it, and I wish time moved faster.
That’s my depressing blog of the day.
