I know this is a weird question, but I have a good reason behind it.
When I was fifteen, my parents got me a kitten... a little orange long-haired tabby girl who I named "Brooke". We bonded very closely, she would wake me up every morning by jumping on my bed, crying loudly, giving me kisses until I got up. I remember trying to have her sleep with me, and she would end up pissing on my bed. I didn't get angry with her, in fact I said that must mean that she claimed me as hers. She did get better about not peeing in my bed, at least.
She was an overly affectionate cat, she would wrap her large paws around my arm, and groom my arm constantly. When I felt anxious, or stressed, she would react by trying to lay ontop of me, lick me and give me something to focus on. I always knew she was my cat, and I was her human. It was a strange, unspoken bond that I still cannot explain. Nothing bad she ever did made me hate her, I loved her unconditionally.
It seemed like she developed my anxiety issues though, she would get upset around strangers, other cats, anything changing in the house, me being gone for too long. She eventually turned into an indoor/outdoor kitty because my dad couldn't handle having her inside for too long. She wasn't my first cat, but she spent 11 years with me. From 15, to when I became 26.
Gradually, she started to lose weight. She was a big girl, but she became so thin. Me and my mom chalked it up to her getting old. Not eating as much. Then, I saw her laying in the garage, not getting up. We took her to the vet who told us that she was severely dehydrated, and that she seemed to have a tooth infection. They rehydrated her, and said that in a couple of weeks, they would try to remove the tooth when she regained some weight.
She did get better, but she never got any weight back... and three weeks later, I tried to get her, but she wasn't in the garage. She was laying outside, infront of the cat door, unable to move. I took her to the emergency vet, but I remember them saying that she wasn't doing well. My last time seeing her was her hooked up with so many tubes, wrapped up with a heating blanket to help with her lowered body temperature, rehydrating her, but... she didn't make it.
Later on, I learned that she had suffered from acute pancreatitis. It destroyed her other organs, made her unable to eat, or drink, and... I don't know if I could have done anything to have helped improve her life. She hid it for so long, I didn't notice the change in eating habits because she was an indoor/outdoor cat. Most of her problems, I didn't realize she had them until it was too late. It felt like it was all my fault, like I killed her with my neglect. I hate myself still because I felt like I could have done something better.
I spent the night crying over the fact she was gone. Harder than I ever cried before in my whole life. I felt utterly alone, suffocating in my isolation, I panicked, I wanted to die. I didn't want to exist in a world without her. I couldn't go back to the emergency vet, I had her cremated, and asked them to just respect her ashes and scatter them if they could.
My mother tried to help, and... we got a pair of kittens. A part of it was because we had a co-worker that had kittens she was trying to get rid of. It felt too soon, but... I just remember feeling an overwhelming desire to not be alone. I wanted to have a friend. They were so tiny when I got them, two short-haired girls. One tabby, and one that was tuxedo black and white with a shade of tabby.
It was a stark contrast, my big orange fluffy girl; and these tiny small... kittens. All I could remember was that I wanted a companion, but I wanted to try to move on. They were in a room, I visited them every day, cleaned their litterbox, fed them, gave them fresh water, and cuddled with them. There were moments when I felt like I could love them, and there were moments when my desperate wish to have my old girl back burned too great for me to be able to be around anyone else.
They're still kittens, but they're much bigger now. I love them both for who they are, they're so much unlike Brooke, but I love them for that. I didn't get them to replace her, but because I couldn't handle the thought of being alone again. Every so often, I get overwhelmed by the memories of my cat, and the fact that I haven't regained that feeling of connection that I lost so long ago. Trying to move on is hard, and everyone has their own method of mourning, and trying to cope with it.
My biggest question for all of you is have any of you experienced something like this, and what did you do to help cope with the loss? I guess we can have this be a general rainbow bridge thread. :< For all those who have lost dear friends, and want to have someone to talk to...
TL;DR - I lost a dear companion, and trying to move on. I'm hoping to both find others that have had experienced this loss, and we can maybe help each other with this loss.
When I was fifteen, my parents got me a kitten... a little orange long-haired tabby girl who I named "Brooke". We bonded very closely, she would wake me up every morning by jumping on my bed, crying loudly, giving me kisses until I got up. I remember trying to have her sleep with me, and she would end up pissing on my bed. I didn't get angry with her, in fact I said that must mean that she claimed me as hers. She did get better about not peeing in my bed, at least.
She was an overly affectionate cat, she would wrap her large paws around my arm, and groom my arm constantly. When I felt anxious, or stressed, she would react by trying to lay ontop of me, lick me and give me something to focus on. I always knew she was my cat, and I was her human. It was a strange, unspoken bond that I still cannot explain. Nothing bad she ever did made me hate her, I loved her unconditionally.
It seemed like she developed my anxiety issues though, she would get upset around strangers, other cats, anything changing in the house, me being gone for too long. She eventually turned into an indoor/outdoor kitty because my dad couldn't handle having her inside for too long. She wasn't my first cat, but she spent 11 years with me. From 15, to when I became 26.
Gradually, she started to lose weight. She was a big girl, but she became so thin. Me and my mom chalked it up to her getting old. Not eating as much. Then, I saw her laying in the garage, not getting up. We took her to the vet who told us that she was severely dehydrated, and that she seemed to have a tooth infection. They rehydrated her, and said that in a couple of weeks, they would try to remove the tooth when she regained some weight.
She did get better, but she never got any weight back... and three weeks later, I tried to get her, but she wasn't in the garage. She was laying outside, infront of the cat door, unable to move. I took her to the emergency vet, but I remember them saying that she wasn't doing well. My last time seeing her was her hooked up with so many tubes, wrapped up with a heating blanket to help with her lowered body temperature, rehydrating her, but... she didn't make it.
Later on, I learned that she had suffered from acute pancreatitis. It destroyed her other organs, made her unable to eat, or drink, and... I don't know if I could have done anything to have helped improve her life. She hid it for so long, I didn't notice the change in eating habits because she was an indoor/outdoor cat. Most of her problems, I didn't realize she had them until it was too late. It felt like it was all my fault, like I killed her with my neglect. I hate myself still because I felt like I could have done something better.
I spent the night crying over the fact she was gone. Harder than I ever cried before in my whole life. I felt utterly alone, suffocating in my isolation, I panicked, I wanted to die. I didn't want to exist in a world without her. I couldn't go back to the emergency vet, I had her cremated, and asked them to just respect her ashes and scatter them if they could.
My mother tried to help, and... we got a pair of kittens. A part of it was because we had a co-worker that had kittens she was trying to get rid of. It felt too soon, but... I just remember feeling an overwhelming desire to not be alone. I wanted to have a friend. They were so tiny when I got them, two short-haired girls. One tabby, and one that was tuxedo black and white with a shade of tabby.
It was a stark contrast, my big orange fluffy girl; and these tiny small... kittens. All I could remember was that I wanted a companion, but I wanted to try to move on. They were in a room, I visited them every day, cleaned their litterbox, fed them, gave them fresh water, and cuddled with them. There were moments when I felt like I could love them, and there were moments when my desperate wish to have my old girl back burned too great for me to be able to be around anyone else.
They're still kittens, but they're much bigger now. I love them both for who they are, they're so much unlike Brooke, but I love them for that. I didn't get them to replace her, but because I couldn't handle the thought of being alone again. Every so often, I get overwhelmed by the memories of my cat, and the fact that I haven't regained that feeling of connection that I lost so long ago. Trying to move on is hard, and everyone has their own method of mourning, and trying to cope with it.
My biggest question for all of you is have any of you experienced something like this, and what did you do to help cope with the loss? I guess we can have this be a general rainbow bridge thread. :< For all those who have lost dear friends, and want to have someone to talk to...
TL;DR - I lost a dear companion, and trying to move on. I'm hoping to both find others that have had experienced this loss, and we can maybe help each other with this loss.
