Thinking about if, if I ever got a kitty cat, what I would name it.
I was thinking up names for if it was male and dark coloured, or female and light coloured, then I thought that, if it was male and dark coloured I'd name him Sasha II.
I then thought to myself, naw, that's disrespectful to Sash...my baby.
Then I started thinking about him.
And I was all smiles and giggles.
Then I remember how, when I was home from school one day, I was twirling around in the family room, (literally twirling) and I saw something sort of hidden behind the plant on the end table. I remember looking and seeing his urn. I remember backing up against the wall and sliding down to the floor, shaking. I was shaking. No one had told me it was there. It was...painful.
Then I remember that morning.
This is what I wrote on my DA page:
Sasha was my cat. I got him as a birthday present when I was 7, I got to pick him out myself. I loved him so much.
But the two years before it all, he had been getting more and more sick each passing day. We took him to two different vets and neither one of them could figure out what was wrong with him. Every time we took him to the vet, I was told again and again that I'd "have to make a hard decision soon". I just never thought I would really have to do it. {And, in truth, I never did get to make that decision.}
First Semester, my friend had come over to my house and we had watched movies etc. and then she went home, I went to bed that night the happiest I had been in a while. My mom woke me up the next morning, it was 10:37 (I memorized the time) and told me, through her own tears, that she was taking Sash to the vet, and that it was "time". I couldn't comprehend it. I think I actually went into a state of shock.
I'll never forgive my mom for what happened next. She brought Sash into my room for me to say goodbye, and he was purring. I still don't understand. I mean, sure he was sick. Sure he had went from being a chubby 15 pounds to a dangerous low of 5 pounds, but he was still PURRING!
She took him out of my room and to the vet. I stayed in my room and cried all day long.
I have to write this, I'm crying as I write it. At 7, I was alone, I had no friends. I had suicidal thoughts at the age of 7. Sasha listened to me. And then he was taken away from me.
We got his body cremated and then we putt he urn in this cat statue, so he'll always be watching over us.
That's it. That's what I wrote.
So there I was, lying in bed, crying, and I realized that I was never told if we had finally found out why he was sick.
So I got up, and I have just emailed my mom, asking.
I need to know.
I want to know why he had to hurt, and why I couldn't help him.
I think, ever since he was taken away from me, my self-diagnosed depression has gotten progressively worse.
Have you ever heard how cats are used as therapy? How petting a cat can reduce stress? Well, it works. I would kneel beside my bed, he'd be all cozzied up in my conforter and I'd just sit there and pet him, talk to him, tell him all of my problems and he would just sit and blink at me, purring, telling me it was alright, that he wouldn't tell a soul.
It was after he was taken from me that I first hurt myself.
I can only remember binging after he was gone.
I'm the middle child. I don't talk to anyone about my problems.
No one would listen anyways because the middle child has no emotions, but he listened. He cared. And then they took him from me.
I cried for three days straight.
I thought I was over it. I mean, I want a new cat now. But I'm far from over it. I still want my baby.
{Oh god, I can't handle these emotions alone anymore.}
No comments:
Post a Comment