Loss of a Furbaby

I feel a little bit of shame posting this. As if my feelings for my lost cat matters less than those who have lost human loved ones. These feelings are real to me though and I have been through enough death and grieving in my lifetime to recognize I am grieving horribly, deeply, truly. I don't even care if nobody reads this, I need to write it.

We adopted Trash Heap in 2012, a runty little rescue named Watling at the time. From the very start she was a pushy diva. The rescue woman warned us 'torties can be stand-offish are you sure you want her?'. We did.

We had just lost my partner's father Larry. He was murdered...or rather he'd incurred injuries during a house invasion robbery that put him into a coma so bad that my husband and his sister had to decide to pull the plug after a long battle by the doctors. A horrific situation I wish upon no one. The trauma of it is what led us to adopt Heap. We already had 2 cats but we were so very sad we went to pet kittens and fell in love with her.

Over the years, even after we lost Elwood and Luka, Heap was the most incredible emotional support kitty. She was a clingy co-dependent little diva too who didn't like to be picked up but loved to be near you. She adored snuggling in bed, loved laps and chin scritches. Any time I would cry she'd come running to shove her head insistently at me until I opened my arms or my lap and she'd snuggle me purring until the hysterics stopped.

When my partner and I discovered we could never have children of our own, Heap was there for me as I decided I would rather stay with my loving partner than chase after my childhood dreams of motherhood.

When we lost Elwood and later Luka our first two cats...she was there with us.

When she got sick, we took care of her. I did a fundraiser to pay for her MRIs and her specialists. When she needed medicine twice a day we learned how to administer it and we stepped up to take care of her special needs. When she lost the ability to jump and climb we adjusted our home to accommodate her. Special stairs, extra beds, anything she needed...

When she lost too much weight we bought her special food. We paid for more medications...
We went to the vet constantly. The past few months we were in there 1-2 times.

The staff called her a little angel. Scared, puffy, hissy and full of growls she never hurt anyone she just wanted you to KNOW she didn't like what was happening.

When she went blind we adjusted again... we watched as our hearts broke as she bumped into things. She developed a neurological problem where she'd only walk in circles. She'd get lost and dizzy. She'd fall over. Still she did her best, she tried to find her litter box...she tried to adjust. We tried to adjust with her.

Then she lost mobility and strength. She couldn't stand for more than a wobbly moment. The most she'd do is move her head. As I held her in my lap while we made the call to the vet I started to cry---and in her last bit of strength she put her head in my hand as if to comfort me.

Its been days now since she passed but my husband and I cannot even go into the room where we cared for her. We struggle to clean up the mess.