A few weeks ago, my bike broke down. I think it's the ignitor or coils and, being on state incapacity benefit, I was worried about the cost of replacing them. Regardless, I booked my bike in and was told the wait would be a month (It's the start of the riding season here so everyone's booked in for service, etc). I was getting wound up over the cost because, for now, my bike is the only form of transport I've got. (I do have access to a car but I can't use it all the time.) This is on top of my PC not working properly, my phone not working, my car, my shaver, my CD player, etc.
On Saturday, I had to have my cat-Shelley-put down. She's been in the family for 12/13 years (a third of my life) and her passing has left a huge hole in my heart. She hadn't been eating for a while but I thought it was just her teeth hurting her, as, when she did eat, she tilted her head to one side. The night before she was due in to the vets for an examination, she got really weak, really quickly. I still felt it was something simple so, without any thought, I took her to the vets. He took one look at her and said it's far more serious than teeth, it was kidney failure and that she wouldn't see the week out. He said it best she goes now and avoid the suffering. I couldn't afford the cost for the vet to do the job so I arranged with the local RSPCA animal centre, where I do voluntary work, that they do it. I knew it had to be done but the drive to there was the most difficult of my life. It's fitting that she goes home there as I got her from there in the first place, all those years ago, and I think that's the only thing that kept me going. I'm surprised the form I had to sign (when I got there) is even legible, with all the tears that fell onto it; my signature is just a shaken scrawl. Quite where I got the strength from to leave the room, I'll never know and the drive back home was the loneliest I've ever had to make.
When I got home, and after informing my dad, I set about sorting out her stuff. It could have waited but I wanted to do it then, despite the boulder in my throat and the fluids pouring from my eyes and nose. I sorted her bedding and picked up her food and water bowls to be cleaned. I started to empty her food out of the cupboard but had to put it back. I just couldn't face the emptiness of the shelves; it was far too symbolic of the emptiness in my heart at the moment.
He won't admit it to me, but my sister told me it's hit my dad really hard. Although she's *my* cat, when I left home, I left her with my dad, rather than uproot her and so he's lived with her for a lot longer than I have. Whenever I've visited, I've always spent some time with her, playing with her, stroking her, telling her what I've been up to, brushing her. She never did like the latter and, over the years, my arms and hands have truly borne the brunt of that dislike. Not that I cared.
I'm having her cremated; I pick the ashes up on Thursday and they can go in the back garden, under the hedge, alongside Jenny, my last cat, buried there.
In all this, I realise that one ever only 'borrows' a pet. We've had all sorts of cats and dogs over the years and you always know that they're going to go. I could have spared myself what I'm feeling now by not ever having brought Shell home but that would have meant I missed out on the 12/13 years of joy she did bring me. (As well as the 12/13 years of mice she also brought me.)
Still, the usual questions go through my mind: was she happy with me? Did I do enough for her? etc. I like to think that she knows I loved her (and still do) and that I've given her a decent life and that, sometime in the future, I'll see her again. I still go and talk to Jenny, 15 years after her passing and so, I'll be able to talk to Shell, too.
I realise that there are people out there who think "Why all the fuss, they're just animals?" and that's OK. Some people understand; others don't. I imagine there are some dog owners out there thinking "It's just a cat, you can't form the same bond, etc" and, again, I say fair enough. I'm a cat-person.
I miss her like crazy. Rest in peace, Shell.
