I’ve both been trying to write this and avoiding writing this, for what feels like a while now. It’s been 11 days since it happened. Realistically, that’s not a long time at all. But it truly feels like months since I last saw him.
Bubby had been sick for months. Since February I think. He had lumps on his back for over a year, but they were covered in fur and harmless. He was 16, this stuff happens when pets get old. It wasn’t until sometime in February, maybe even March, that the lumps started to bother him. The past 5 months have been a blur.
He started to chew at them, taking the fur off. We would stop him as best we could, but with a cat going in between 2 houses and who knows where else, it was hard to keep on top of what he was doing to himself. It quickly got worse and worse, to the point where it was just an open sore on his back.
I did my best to make him stop licking and chewing at it, but he was persistent. In April he went to the vet, got some antibiotics to help the pain and infection, and that was about it. We had him covered from there on out, but he still managed to get to it when he wanted to. From this point on, he only got worse.
From April to the end of May, my poor boy had torn an open wound into his back. It smelled, got full of pus, sometimes blood, and it looked extremely painful. Please keep in mind that he was not technically my cat, he had other owners who took him to the vet, etc.
Over the winter months, he became less and less himself. Not playing as much, eating as much, just wanting to sleep. Lots and lots of sleep, which wasn’t a problem. We let him sleep comfortably wherever he wanted, and for as long as he wanted.
The last week of May was a really hard week. On Wednesday, I got the text that he would be put down ASAP. He was suffering and looking sick, and he wasn’t doing well. It was basically a waiting game from Wednesday to Saturday. Knowing it was coming was both good and bad. I had months to mentally prepare myself, but how do I prepare for my best friend to die?
He slept over on Friday night, absolutely void of energy. Saturday morning, we had our final goodbyes, and I took him over to the owners for the last time. I dropped him off, had a short exchange with him, and he was gone. Just like that, I no longer had a best friend.
It was probably the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. I broke down a lot that week. I broke down immediately after handing him over. My body became heavy and I went to lie on the bathroom floor. I couldn’t focus, I didn’t want to be alive. If he wasn’t, why should I be? He doesn’t deserve this.
Ativan and Clonazepam became my best friends for sleeping. The anxiety gets the worst at night. I miss him so much every day, too. It just eats me alive at night. I know it’ll get easier with time, but it just feels impossible right now. I have his tag from his old owners from when he would get his rabies shots, and I literally carry it around everywhere. You can ask my family and friends, it doesn’t leave my sight.
Grief is an extremely hard and complicated thing. When my last cat, Maple, passed, I became depressed. I never got out of that depression. Seeing pictures of him makes my heart hurt. He should still be here, it’s summer. Summer was our time. We spent the majority of summer outside in the sun. He loved to lie in the sun. It was when he was at his happiest.
I tell myself that he’s watching over me. Whether I really believe in that or not, it helps to deal with the fact that he’s not physically here anymore. I truly miss him to death. We spent most of our time together, and it feels so impossible to do anything without him. It’s still setting in, too. I cry at random times and get depressed when I see certain pictures of him.
I miss you, my love. I hope you’re having fun up there, where the sun always shines. I love you forever Bubby.