#the tone of this started like 😃🔪 but became 🥰 . what catharsis will do for a motherfucker

[reinemichele]

Well. I had a post typed up about my cat and then the tumblr app crashed and I lost everything I typed. So I'm going to try to retype it all and I'm not gonna be cranky about it ❤

I'm putting a read-more bc it'll get long and be more of a stream of conscious/disorganized ramble and discuss animal death/injuries, alcoholism, and familial abuse, so please don't feel like you need to read it, I'm just getting my thoughts out.

Hurhghughhghugh . yeah that's how I feel send post

No um let's see. I usually try to be more organized with these posts but I started writing this at 6 in the morning and my back really hurts, so sorry if it's disjointed and has any typos.

First of all, I debated making this joke but it's my grief and mental illness, so

Every time I try a new antidepressant something bad happens, and I felt especially wary because something bad also happens every birthday too. But I was out of refills, wanted to try something else, couldn't get in until Dec 27th, & felt silly putting it off for a superstition I don't fully believe in. All that said, when I got home and took my first lexapro at almost 5 in the morning, I hoped that it would make these next few weeks easier.

Anyway, it was around 11:30pm, and I wanted to go to bed but I was trying to stay up to spend more time with my pets. My ��ack still really hurts from petsitting, so I was on the heating pad with my glasses off.

My mom called for me using my name, not a nickname, which she only does when she's in pain or distressed. It took me a minute to find my glasses, so she called again, and that got my brother's attention bc again, hearing "Erin" = something's wrong.

I don't remember what she said, probably that there was something wrong with Buttercup. I followed her and immediately saw he had a bloody gash on his eye. When he saw my brother and I he started meowing and tried to walk, but his legs buckled. My brother scooped him up and took him into the bathroom to see where he was hurt. I noticed blood on his tail and on 3 of his legs, but couldn't see where he was bleeding from.

There's really not enough room in our bathroom for 3 people and a big cat, so my mom started calling emergency vets while I got the cat carrier ready with a clean towel.

My brother wanted to grab gloves as a precaution before putting Buttercup in the carrier in case he got defensive and asked me to watch him while he left. I sat down next to him and he meowed to me, panting, and pressed his head into my leg for comfort. I petted his head and told him it'd be okay. I didn't think it was going to be okay.

I changed into a warmer shirt and brushed my hair, my brother and I took turns using the bathroom. We each grabbed a water bottle and headed out.

My brother knows my 🅱ack hurts, so he asked if I was sure about holding the cat carrier the whole time. I really didn't think we would be bringing Buttercup home, so I said yes. I didn't want the jostling of the car to scare and hurt him more than necessary, especially after he was seeking comfort in the bathroom. My brother could, um, drive fast, and I could hold the carrier as still as possible and stick my fingers in the gaps of the bars. He would be scared and in pain, but cats are smart; he would be able to understand he was being cared for.

The entire car ride, he cried frantically and pushed his head into my hand through the cage. I meowed to him and told him it was okay and I was sorry he was in pain. The closest emergency vet was an hour away and we had to stop for gas. My 🅱ack was definitely aching but I think it was worth it.

We got there and everyone was very nice and attentive and quick. They called Buttercup handsome and quickly gave him a painkiller. After 10 minutes he was still hyperventilating and they were concerned about his oxygen intake, so they took him into a little transparent cubby they could filter oxygen into. At one point I heard a tech mutter that his oxygen stat couldn't be "that"; he'd be in a coma if it was. He took the reading again and said that it made more sense. I can't really know for sure this is the case, but I know from experience both with my mom's time in healthcare and previous pets that animals can hold onto survival out of sheer will and stubbornness no matter how impossible it seems.

It was difficult to watch him struggle to breathe. I could tell he was still meowing for us. I wanted to ask them to give him another dose or possibly just sedate him, but I knew that it would suppress his respiratory system further (hospice babey), so I tried to just bear watching him suffer without being able to comfort him.

An hour later they gave him another dose and quickly did an ultrasound and xrays. They explained the respiratory system thing I just mentioned and that that was why they were hesitant to give him more, but they did give him another dose soon after that because he was still so agitated. After a few minutes we noticed that his breathing stopped. They started CPR and I wanted to ask them to stop, but my brother had gone to the bathroom and I didn't want to exclude him from the decision. He got back, we made eye contact, and we both asked them to stop doing CPR. It had been 8 minutes.

They told us they were really sorry for our loss and explained what the xrays and ultrasound revealed. He had no fractured bones, but there was a hernia in his chest, his heart had moved away from the surface of his chest cavity, and either his lungs or diaphragm were punctured because there was a lot of air in his chest, causing pressure/pain in the chest and difficulty breathing.

They didn't really need to come out and say it: even if his heart hadn't stopped, the internal damage was so severe that there wouldn't have been anything they could do to save him. We knew that was most likely the case even before the tests, we just couldn't let him suffer and die at home in that much pain.

Because of the gash on his eye and the punctured organs, they thought it was more likely to be a big bird that picked him up and dropped him when he started struggling than a car impact.

They wrapped him in a red blanket and took us to a private room where we could say goodbye. I held him, kissed his head, held his paws, and cried with my brother. We called our mom to tell her and she cried with us. She told us that my dad's sister offered to pay the bill, and I wanted to say that she (my aunt) could go to hell, but we really aren't in the financial position to refuse. So I didn't say anything ❤ And she texted my aunt's payment info to my brother.

I don't want to fully get into our relationship with her but as of writing this, my dad's sister is already emotionally blackmailing us. And that's the least abusive behavior from the people in my family I don't speak with anymore ❤

Anyway

I tried to process and piece together what all the test results meant. He was most likely picked up by a big bird and then dropped from a pretty decent height, causing severe pain and internal damage. Either he was dropped in our yard and didn't have to go far, or he was dropped far away and managed to hop the fence to get back into the yard despite his injuries. Once there, he cried for help and comfort from his trusted humans. Despite the pain and lack of oxygen most likely making him delirious, he didn't get defensive at all, completely trusting us. He didn't even hiss.

Cats are notorious for finding a quiet place to hide when they're injured, especially if the injuries are lethal. None of my cats have ever done that; a testament to the mutual love and trust we're able to build with them.

We spent a little more time with him and then made the cremation arrangements and payment. We almost forgot the cat carrier in our... state. It was late and we'd been crying a lot.

When we got home we all tried to make lighthearted conversation, but ended up all crying anyway. My mom apologized and said she knew he was "my" cat, but she still loved him a lot. I told her she didn't need to be sorry and that I was glad that he was loved by all of us.

We got Buttercup for my 21st birthday.

Alcoholism and abuse is prevalent in my family, to put it lightly, and people kept pressuring me to go out and drink for my birthday. I didn't want to have to share my childhood trauma to get people to leave me alone about drinking. I was, like, possessed with terror that I'd try one drink and then either spend the rest of my life burning for alcohol, or give in and become one of the monsters in the family. My brother could tell this was really weighing on me and suggested we adopt a cat for my birthday. In 2017 our 24 year old cat died, and in 2018 our 21 year old cat died, so I was still grieving them and we had the room. He said he'd never seen my eyes light up so quickly as when he made the suggestion. I think what he left unsaid was he didn't realize that all it would take to make me look less haunted would be to suggest taking in a new cat.

It sounds cheesy, but I think to me, taking in a new pet for my 21st birthday was a physical reminder that I wasn't doomed to repeat the same cycle found in my family. My future was mine to decide, and I could make it one where I put love and kindness into the universe. Being 21 didn't have to mean living in fear of hurting children the way I was hurt.

I had every intention of walking into the shelter and taking home the oldest cat there. But I saw Buttercup and just felt a connection. He was around 12 weeks old and the cutest creamy orange color. His ears and paws were too big for the rest of his body. He looked lonely and scared. I circled the shelter multiple times until both my brother and one of the staff gently said it was okay if I wanted to take a kitten home.

My brother's more of a dog person, but when we got Buttercup, he started really trying to research and understand cats, and I could see it in his eyes how happy he was that Buttercup saw him as a paternal figure and not just me. He was worried about Buttercup being too young to eat real cat food, he wanted to help potty train him. He started carrying Buttercup around on his shoulder and showing him parts of the house he was curious about. I had a migraine the day Buttercup was scheduled to be spayed and my brother said he could do it on his own. He spent the whole day checking in on him and nervously asked me if this or that was normal, when his appetite would return, when the anesthesia would wear off.

This was a turning point for my brother. Usually every time we took in a new cat, I was the one socializing them and helping them adjust to the house. This enthusiasm and love for Buttercup made my brother start putting in effort to bond with all our cats too. It was really sweet to watch unfold.

When we got Buttercup, my mom was working a grueling job really far away, so she had to get up at 5AM for the commute and sometimes didn't get home until 9PM. She almost always had to go straight to sleep, had no time for herself, and felt very depressed because of this job. So for the first year that we had Buttercup, he barely saw her and was quite shy around her.

After she was able to find a different job, she had more time and was much less depressed. She made it her mission to become Buttercup's friend, and within a few months he became her morning buddy. Suddenly he was knocking her eyeliner out of her hand so her hand was free to pet him, and he had gotten over his fear of the sound of running water because he wanted to stay in the bathroom while she showered. My mom stopped dreading mornings because she could look forward to spending them with Buttercup.

So... there's a lot I could say about my "family", defined as people who I'm related to by blood. But I'm not in the right mental space or time-frame to talk about it without saying things I can't take back. But I've cut contact with a lot of the people I share DNA with, and the only ones who I consider to be my "family" are my mom, two brothers, and one cousin. (My dad is dead, for the record, he didn't do anything heinous; he's just in an urn). In this small family of mine, our greatest strength is that we have an endless well of love for all living creatures.

So I don't want my mom or brother to feel guilty for being heartbroken. We loved that cat together; we made him feel wanted and cared for and loved. So we can mourn him together too. There's no hierarchy here.