My adorable, big, fur baby died today. Technically, he was no longer mine. When I moved out, I chose to leave him with my parents, because my house is so much smaller than theirs. But I was originally his person. He loved me, trusted me. And now he's gone.
It was so fast. So fucking fast.
By some miracle, I was over at my parents' today. My mom wanted me to help her put the Christmas decorations away. I got over there around 1:00 p.m. I had no idea anything out of the ordinary was going to happen. Spike was sitting on the couch. I walked over, held out my hand to him. He let me pet him. Mom and I got to work. We put away most of the decorations, then ate some cinnamon rolls. We got back to work. I was happy. We were talking, laughing, finishing up. All of a sudden, at right around 3:40 p.m., we started hearing a really loud cry coming from the upstairs landing. I had two pictures in my hand, but I ran up there. What I saw turned my blood to ice in my veins. Spike was panting heavily. It is *never* a good sign when a cat is panting. He continued crying. Poop was coming out of his behind. He wasn't moving his back legs. I dropped what I was holding in the bathroom. Dad stayed with Spike while Mom tried calling the vet. Since it's a Saturday, the vet wasn't around. So instead, we decided to take Spike to the animal hospital off of Holly and County Line. We put a towell in a basket, and carried him in the basket. He cried almost the whole way to the vet. I sat in the backseat, petting him, trying to comfort him. As soon as we got in, they took him back. Then they took us into a room. A few minutes later, they came back, asking if we wanted them to use CPR, to try to revive him. They tried. It didn't work. We asked to say good-bye, but by the time we got back there, he was gone. His heart had stopped. It was around 4:20 p.m. He was gone in less than an hour. After we explained the circumstances, the vet said that it was probably a blood clot, an embolism of some kind. There was nothing they could do.
Thank all of the gods that I was there today. I think I would hurt even more if I hadn't had a final chance to pet him, and if I hadn't been there. I needed to be there.
It was so sudden, I feel like I have whiplash. I can't believe I woke up this morning, thinking it would just be an ordinary day. Instead, I now have to learn how to live in a new reality. A reality in which Spike is no longer alive.
I've lost other pets before. Red, Wick, Winston, Remington, Bugs, Zoe, Squeaker, Wile E., and Rudy, not to mention my fish and Otis the tarantula. But this is different. I don't know if it's because I'm older, or because it's Spike. I would say Spike was mine, but it's more accurate to say that I was his. I was his human. He decided that fairly early on (like within the first week or so after we got him.) He loved me. He would let me comfort him when he had to go to the vet, in a way he wouldn't let anyone else.
Spike had a big personality, if a bit on the grumpy side. He did not like any other cats, other than his own brother...and even then, he could get really cranky towards him too. Picking him up meant getting a quite satisfying squeeze. He was very vocal. If he didn't like something, he would let you know. We had to take him to the hospital when he was still pretty young. We could hear him crying the whole way down the hallway, and the whole way back.
I want him back. I would give just about everything I have to get a little more time with him. I know, he's just a cat. But he was *my* cat. I love him. And I hurt. I don't want to get used to this new hole in my heart. I will. I know I will. But gods above and below, it's going to be so fucking hard. I wasn't ready to lose him. I wasn't.
Good-bye, Spikey-baby. I will always miss you.