Slowly

 It takes time 

 I will go slowly

 but surely.

Here she is in her garden, enjoying a day like today.

(pics taken summer 2014)

Grief Is The Word

I know I will be fine - it just takes time.

In A Flash

"And in a flash...she was gone."

MOUSIE

Mousie has died.

I am beyond devastated.

On Wednesday eve 8^th June I was laying in bed, trying to sleep with terrible anxiety for no apparent reason.  When I woke on Thursday, my first thought was, ‘I would be so devastated if Mousie was to die now’.

At 11:04am I received a text from Miranda, Mousie’s owner: “Sorry to tell you that Mousie is not v well and in pain. Vet doing tests for pancreatitis. Will have results this afternoon.”

As you can imagine, I was in shock, kind of freaky how I knew. I have always maintained I was psychically connected to Mouse. I still believe this to be.

I went to visit with her and stayed for 2.5 hours. It was so painful, she was so knocked out on kitty morphine and dribbling. Her pupils were huge and she just wasn’t there. I would like to think that she recognised me. She came out of her hiding place in the basement. When I called for her in the sing-song way that I always do, “Mou-sie!” “it’s the MOU-SIE!”. She was very slow to come over, in so much pain. Laying on her front, not her usual side/back with tummy on display, which is understandable she would not want me to rub it. She purred a tuneful purr, not the usual purr, so I shall assume the noise was because of her terrible discomfort as purrs can sometimes mean pain.

She was loving getting her head scratched, and I sat there patting her for hours. Her owner came down to the basement to give her the morphine exactly on schedule at 5pm. She was obviously traumatised by the morphine injection, which was done orally by syringe. So she walked around a bit, and went to hide in a dark, secure spot.

I was sitting on the floor, which is quite difficult for me due to my bad lower back, and she was sitting there too, so out of it. I kept talking to her, telling her how great she is and how she has helped me and how she has comforted me in my toughest times. And how much I love her. And I did love her. And I do love her.

I went back to my flat and anxiously awaited text from her owner. At 7:33pm I wrote and asked if she heard back. This was the response: “Yes, they have got back to me, but we’ve been digesting the news. She definitely has pancreatitis. After discussing the options with the vet, and much familial discussion/weeping, we’ve decided that she will be put to sleep tomorrow”.  I stared at my phone and cried. I knew this was inevitable, but reading it was horrid. I wanted to go to the vet’s office with her, but she said she preferred to go and be alone with Mouse, but I was welcome to come up and see her before they went. (I fully respect the owners decision).

I got to see her again in the morning, Friday 10^th June (this will now be known as the worst day of my life). I got there at 8:15am and sat down again, and she came up to me. I did not want to take pictures, and I just wanted to think it was a very bad dream. I did not sleep a wink and I looked like hell, but I didn’t care as I needed to see her, or I wouldn’t forgive myself. I got the psychic feeling she knew that it was her time. When I got up I kept going back to her, I couldn’t leave the room. I wanted to kiss her, and pat her, and make it okay for her. Her breathing was very low. I told her she was The Great Lady of Dignity, and The Grande Dame of Highbury. I managed to bend down and kiss her head. She did not lean forward to head-butt me. She was too weak. I tried to make eye contact with her, and when it finally happened I lowered my eyelids to show her animal affection the way cats do. She looked down. I told her again how much I love her, thanked her for all of the comfort she has given me, and told her I’ll see her on the other side. And I will.

I went home to my flat and just sat here like a zombie.

At 10:21am I received a text: “She’s gone. Very quickly and quietly”. I wrote back with: I hope she was not scared. I was scared for her. Thank you for telling me. The owner responded with: “No not scared at all. The vet is very good and I was cuddling her”.

I realise grief is a most selfish emotion. But I need to learn to grieve in my own way. And grieve I will, for a very, very long time.

She will always be my Louche Tabby.

(*If it is not too weird for you guys, I’d like to keep my blog going. I have hundreds of pictures of her from over the years, and I’d love to share. I believe it would be therapeutic for me. I will give a date on the pictures) 

She's Ill

I have received a text from Mousie's owners. She is very, very ill. She is in a lot of pain, and is taking morphine for this. 

She is 15 years old this year. I am remaining realistic. 

And I am frightened about the inevitable.