Cat has not been eating much for the past few days, she seems to have had an upset stomach, something like a bug. Today she seemed a little better, not appearing too unwell or excessively sleepy, still drinking a lot, but hardly eating, and when she did, she used just one side of her mouth.
Mum called the vet, which was unexpectedly open for a few hours of emergency appointments during this 'lock down' time, and we loaded Cat into the cat box and wheeled her, on the back of mum's bicycle, to the vet about a mile away. Cat meowed constantly during the trip, something she often does. She always was vocal, eager to talk to us, every since we saved her from the unfeeling cars on that lonely autumn evening in October 2003 when we found her, as a tiny kitten, meowing insistently at us.
With the distancing measures, we spoke to the vet in the car park, standing a few metres apart, and the vet took Cat inside to examine her. He reported that she had an abscess in her mouth; perhaps that was the cause of her stomach trouble too, who can say. Unfortunately, he also found a large tumour in her abdomen and said that this would probably cause problems from now on and that treating the tooth was probably not worth it. Mum said right away that she should be put down, this was probably correct, but these are my mother's instincts anyway. She has often said that she would 'put me out of my misery' if I should fall ill.
So, Cat died today. Her birthday was probably in April 2003, so she was 17. It might even have been her birthday. She was my lucky spark in art, how curious that I have stopped painting at this time, back working on Taskforce, the first game I developed after she arrived.
The hardest part for me was not seeing her one last time. I expected to take her home with a treatment, quickly and easily. The Covid-19 distancing measures meant that we couldn't go into the surgery to see her after she was taken in for the examination. I knew that somewhere in the depths of the building she would be meowing for us, but I didn't see her again. I rarely photograph Cat, so it's amazing that I did so in March. I'm blessed to have this memento. I wrote a final poem for her today, too.
Goodbye
I wish I could say goodbye.
I wish I could have said goodbye.
I wish you could have heard me say goodbye, today,
and felt it and knew how much I loved you.
I wish you could have seen goodbye
in my eyes, and my voice.
I wish you knew, I wish you know, now,
that goodbye has been said,
although you are dead.
I wish you felt loved as you died.
I wish you could see how much I have cried,
but you didn't,
and you can't,
because you were alone,
and afraid, like I am
as I write goodbye.
