My boy cat, Lucas, has appeared various times in this blog and so may be a familiar name to some of you. I’m writing this now because he died. It was unexpected, he became very ill on Thursday and had to be put to sleep on Saturday. It was his heart. His big, beautiful heart.
My grief seems insurmountable at the moment, he was my sunshine boy – the thing that made me happy on a day-to-day basis.
Often, people seem ashamed of the love and therefore the grief that they feel for their pets, but I’m not embarrassed. I don’t have children and he was my baby. I had him from a tiny kitten to him being almost ten years old and I miss him constantly. I’m finding it hard not to cry most of the time and I constantly look for him.
Thom said to me that grief is part of love and I think he’s right.
The vet told me when he went in that the prognosis wasn’t good, that it was rare for a cat to recover from this kind of episode, but I had hope. Lucas was the kind of cat who got into scrapes and fought to get out of the other side. I spent time with him there and knew that if it were possible, his little body would fight to stay with me. He got worse. By Saturday, I knew I couldn’t put it off any longer, the vet had been steadily preparing me for the worst and I knew by now that despite the painkillers and sedatives, he was suffering and I was being selfish keeping him with me any longer.
Saturday was furious. It raged and stormed, the sky split and rain poured down, hammering against the windows and later, as I went to the vets, onto my skin and I was glad. I wanted the day to be like I felt. I wanted it to rain so hard that village fetes were washed away, that people had to run indoors, so that the world would come to a stop because of this one dreadful thing.
I was with him when he slipped away and then, when the vet asked if I wanted some time alone with him, I felt confused. I looked at the little furry body lying on the table and shook my head. Lucas wasn’t there any more.
Lukey was sweet-natured, very bright, appealing and talkative. He didn’t understand when I was on the telephone and thought that I was always talking to him – he responded fully to the extent where sometimes I couldn’t hear the person on the other end. He could be naughty and silly, he made me laugh when I was grumpy, he was always pleased to see me. My family talked to him on the phone, proving that a language barrier is no barrier at all to a soul as beautiful as his.
His favourite spots in the house and garden are haunted by my memories of his happiness there. I don’t know if I believe in heaven, but I do believe that all he was exists somewhere, potentially everywhere, with everyone else we ever loved and lost.
I’m not writing this blog post for sympathy, because words from other folks can’t make it better, but because I’ve perhaps been a little quiet and I might continue to be subdued, both in SL and outside of it. I hope you understand.
I made a blog of photos of him, you can go see if you like… welovelucas.wordpress.com.