Stop All The Clocks......
- By girly-d
- On 28/11/2017
- 0 comments
I've tried to write this post before.
About a million times.
And each time has ended the same way.
With Me. In bits. On my bed, surrounded by mascara stained tissues and sobbing my heart out.
Because I haven't been able to do it.
To summarise just how much I miss him.
So now I'm finally paying tribute to my one-eyed, no tailed four legged wingman.
Because he wasn't just a cat. He was my life-line, and the glue that held me together when the shit hit the fan.
And so, if you at any point are shaking your head and thinking that, actually, he was "just a cat" then don't read the rest ok? Because I really don't want you to know about him....
You don't deserve to know about him...
For everyone else, this is his story...
I got him from the RSPCA.
No one else would touch him....This smashed up, one-eyed wreck of a thing hanging around on death row, because perfect kittens were all the rage and because he wasn't either of those things....He was a snaggle toothed moggie recovering from cat flu with with claws like razor blades and an attitude problem.
I fell in love immediately.
And so I took him home, and me and little man became a team.
I fed him dreamies, and whiskas and cat nip, and in return, he bit me, scratched me, and wrecked all of my furniture.....and most of my clothes.
He sneezed constantly....spraying the walls, the skirting boards, the sofa......me..... with this "stuff". That no matter what, just kept on coming.
I absolutely adored him. And he adored me.....because it turned out that the biting and scratching thing was what he did when he was excited.....which was most of the time, now that he had a nice place to live and someone who gave a shit about him.
Having him around was a game-changer.
Because he taught me loads.
About trust, and resilience, and about survival.
Because this little guy had been through the wringer. And endured some terrible stuff. But he'd kept on going.....and despite all of the bad shit that happened to him, he loved unconditionally. And he stuck to me like velcro.
Because he knew that I loved him back.
When there was nothing left of my life to speak of, there was Little man.
When almost everyone and everything around me had was long gone,...it was still me and him.
I would be a tear stained mess crying in my caravan, praying for this shit to be over, and he would be right there next to me - Inside my dressing gown, purring his ass off and digging his claws into my chest.....letting me know in the only way he could, that I was loved and that he needed me to look after him.
When i couldn't be arsed to feed myself, I fed little man. When I didn't wash, or brush my teeth or comb my hair, I still groomed him.
Half-hearted, repetative gestures that kept me going, groundhogday after groundhog day.
Until slowly I started to function again.
And then he died.....
Because he'd been waiting for that to happen. And waiting for that day.
So that he could let go of me. Because he knew that, up until that point, without him to take care of, I would have given up completely.
And so he held on. Waiting for me to get better
And he acted like he was ok.
Until the day that we both knew that he wasn't.
And that I would have to do the one final thing that he needed me to do for him then, no matter how much it broke my heart.
And so I put him to sleep.
And I was inconsolable.
Because this massive little big thing was gone and I missed him.
I slept with his ashes tucked away inside my sleeping bag when I was lonely and lost and living on a sofa.
And I took him with me to hospital and to detox and to rehab so that he could be with me and see me getting better.
Right now he's in my bedroom, right next to my bed as I'm writing this.
Along with his photo and a few other things that remind me of him.
I'm never away from him now for any distance or for any length of time as long as I can help it.
Because there's a hole in my heart without him.
And so he was never "just a cat".
He was my "raison d'etre"
And I really, really miss him.....x