My cat Lucilla died last night and I took my first Valium in, I think, about three months or so. I might have had one other one at some point, but no pain pills, not even yesterday after a four and a half hour dental appointment. I just couldn't handle the emotional pain, or to be more honest, I didn't want to.
Our vets are baffled by whatever it is that seems to be running through our cattery. We've spent thousands and thousands of dollars and given them the very best of care but the more fragile cats of the extreme breeds that we have just keep getting sick and dying. Gia's cats were sick from kittenhood so they obviously had some genetic predisposition for illness and Sparkle and Twinkle turned out to have a disease they were born with (amyloidosis) for which there is no cure. Our vets, who are the best, have finally persuaded me to let them do necropsies at their own expense, sending tissues to labs and UC Davis in an effort to stem this somehow, hoping to discover what it is that could be going on here. I just feel kind of defeated and depressed. I also feel really angry at whoever the Fuck put us under this enormous stress with the authorities so that in order to protect our pets from being seized and "euthanized" -- which I think is a bullshit, soft peddled word for murder -- I had to give several away and hide the rest.
Moving these guys causes them to get really stressed out which depresses their immune systems which brings out viruses and other health related problems, that's what happened to Lucilla, I think. She just lost a ton of weight in a matter of days and all of her organs started failing. Nevertheless I blame myself as always, alternating between thinking there must have been something I could have done, some sign I should have noticed sooner, and that no stupid self aggrandizing magazine shoot is worth losing a little friend, and feeling like everything happens as it is meant to and that it was just her time. She looked fine on Thursday but on Friday she suddenly looked thin and unwell, I fed her tuna and baby food and cuddled her up and figured I would take her in first thing in the morning, not realizing that I should have rushed her in to the emergency room that night. This is where I'm torturing myself, wondering if bringing her in ten hours sooner could have made the difference and saved her life.
Four days of expensive, intensive, round the clock care and prayers and I get a call last night, or this morning, at 12:30 informing me that she had died. As a kitten she had been hospitalized and had almost died twice I think and she's always been very thin and fragile looking so I'm guessing she was just too inbred, I'll know more when we get the lab results, but it doesn't lessen the pain of losing another cat friend. I miss Twinkle and Sparkle every day. Sometimes one of their babies will walk by me and I'll catch myself thinking it's Sparkle and then realize that, no, it isn't and that he is gone, for now anyway.
I'm afraid to write about these kinds of things because ever since I got kind of creamed here by a few of my "friends" and then someone turned me in to the animal cops, (this happened shortly after I posted pictures of myself cuddling one of my possums, [no worries mean, possum-hating people -- they're gone now], and a batch of my kitties all cuddled up on the bed), I've been feeling too raw and self protective to share anything that could be potentially harmful to us. I'm afraid to write stuff about being overly dependent on prescription meds, or my weight, my relationship issues with my Mom, Scott or Beau, and definitely anything pertaining to our pet friends. Having an animal cop show up in your house first thing in the morning will do that to you.
I just realized it's Friday the Thirteenth. I wish I could do with opals, and walking under ladders, what I've done with the number thirteen and black cats. I looove opals, their fire captivates me, but I'm afraid of the unluckiness factor so I won't wear them. I'm not so much afraid that they are unlucky, I think that is some kind of conspiracy/rumor started by the DeBeers diamond family and Queen Victoria who wanted them all for herself, as I am that my thinking they're unlucky will make them so for me. Silly, aint I?
Taking guitar lessons, doing anything with music, exercising, organizing my home in the hope that I will be able to clear out the clutter and make room for more art and money to come into our lives, and planning for our upcoming trip to Burning Man helps take the edge off the animal loss hurting. I worry when anyone sneezes or coughs or has mussed up looking fur. I am a fretful, overprotective Mama cat. If they were teenagers who were going out with friends I'd be the Mom who'd make them wear a sweater and promise to be home by midnight, actually, no, it's worse than that because I don't even let these guys out unless it's with a responsible adult and a collar and a leash, so I guess I'd be the parent of the awkward geeky teenager cat who ends up like Carrie at the prom.
I miss my ferrets and the possums that we were so lucky to have had for a time. I miss all of the pets we have had through the years who have died, but I have the full use of all of my limbs, and so do the remaining members of my family, my son is here, alive, intact, overweight but relatively healthy, my mother is still alive at eighty-eight years old, I don't weigh three hundred and twenty-five pounds anymore and I have my Scotty, so in many ways all is truly right with my world.
I love you guys, thank you as always for letting me vent,
Your friend -- Jacqui