Yet another depressing post, complete with bitter, scattered thoughts.

 Early yesterday morning, one of my cats died. Yes, she was the one you met in “My Life is Super Glamorous“. This little beast was so lovable and sweet, and she freaking fetched. Let me say that again: I threw little plastic balls with bells in them down the hallway, and she brought them back to me in her mouth. 

A little Princess in a sack that probably still contained panties at the time.

She was sick for a few days with what the vet called an “intestinal blockage” (a hairball, or something). This took several vet visits and sleepless nights to figure out. Anyway, after her very last vet visit, I got hopeful. He said the condition was curable, and that there was a possibility that she could perk up. Unfortunately, the poor baby was pretty weak, and most likely in pain. The morning she died, I couldn’t sleep. I begged asked my mom to check on her because, due to the horrible experience I had with Cookeh, I did not want to see her dead. Sadly, my intuition was correct.

Cookeh was a terrible, terrible experience where I watched my almost 6 year old cat suffer for hours with severe pain to the point of seizures. A few weeks after dealing with this, I found a cute little calico with sock feet in my backyard. I knew this little baby since I could hold her in the palm of my hand. She really helped me get past the experience, and I was looking forward to her 2nd birthday in July.

Unlike Cookeh, I wasn’t absolutely devastated. I felt something different this time. Did I love her with all of my heart? Absolutely. I cried for a while (One night, I looked at her and started crying, saying “I don’t wanna lose her.” Sadly, you don’t always get what you wish for.), but ultimately I was furious. Out of everything that has gone wrong in my life over the past 3 years, I figured that maybe I’d be allowed to keep my freaking cat. However, this isn’t the case, and the universe continues to turn every attempt of optimism into a giant “screw you”.

I’m super thankful for how helpful our vet (that I’ve known for my entire life) was. It’s very important to me to know that he did everything in his power to help her. My mom and I petted and loved her and made sure she was comfortable. It’s honestly the best thing you can do for your pet in this situation.

I’m just glad she isn’t in pain anymore. As ridiculous as it sounds, I like to imagine that she’s met Cookeh in some sort of strange, kitty afterlife.

EDIT (6/6/16): Currently crying again because our vet (who has already done so much for our pets) sent me a card. It’s got a little bridge with cats (One looks like her.) and dogs sitting on it with a rainbow in the background. It reminds me of this silly “Rainbow Bridge” story I read to cope with Cookeh. I think it was for young children, but it helped me at 15 and again at 17.


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