Strange Days
Mac passed away on Saturday, the 19th. I had just come home for the weekend on Friday, mostly because I was concerned for him and I wanted to see him. That night he ate his food, which was really unusual. I was actually happy and feeling optimistic that night; not only because he had eaten but because my dad finally ordered/received a new medicine that could prolong his life. Later that night Mac sat in front of the fire place like he used to, and I snuggled next to him. However, at bed time he decided to lay on my bed directly in the way my legs, and I had to gently shoved him to the side. He didn't snuggle next to me as he usually did.
On Saturday morning I woke up around 8:30 to the sound of Mac vomiting under my bed. I was concerned, and I called out to him and hung over the side, but I was half asleep and eventually passed out again. Then at 10:30 my dad called to me. He said "Jaine, you had better come here." He mentioned something about Mac, and he sounded serious. I followed his voice to the guest room, where I found him sitting next to Mac in the corner by the bed. He said that he had been groaning and laying there for some time now, and that he wouldn't move. When I first came in he didn't make a sound, but just by looking at him I could tell something was wrong. His head was on the ground, his eyes were wide but not looking around, and his mouth was wet as if he had been drooling. For a few minutes I sat with him and talked to my dad in a panic. We tried to move him to the bed to be more comfortable, but he jumped down to the same spot. That was the last time I saw him walk around. Through tears my father and I sat with him as he groaned and passed in and out of consciousness. I tried to cradle him in my lap as I did when he was just a kitten. I knew what was coming. We had discussed it before, and we had a decision to make. The vet didn't even expect him to last as long as he did. My dad stayed with him while I hurried to get ready to go some where, just in case. I told myself it was just in case but I knew it wasn't. When I returned to the guest room Mac was even worse; he had thrown up a lot more, and he was moaning loader and more frequently. My dad had put him on a towel and moved him closer to the center of the room. He told me that he didn't even bother to move his head as he vomited. I felt I should clean off his face and paws, so I did. As my dad talked to the vet on the phone I curled up next to Mac and held him close. He didn't feel like Mac. He felt stiff and cold. His body felt of fear, if that's possible. I kept talking to him, but he barely responded. Every now and then he would seemingly "wake up", look around slightly in shock, and moan in pain. When he was conscious I remember looking at him and him looking at me.
To reduce his fear we put him in a small box with a towel instead of a cat carrier. We knew he wouldn't be able to resist or jump out in his condition. He barely gave a fuss in the car, every once in a while he would have a fit of meowing, but then he would pass out again. Getting into the vets office feels like such a blur. I was crying as I held him in his box, and I stood, waiting for my dad to finish the paper work. The nurse at the desk seemed too cheery and indifferent. They took us to an emptyish exam room facing the outside of the building (it had windows unlike the other ones that were enclosed). At first I didn't want to be there when it happened. Somehow I changed my mind. But first they had to take him away to insert the catheter. I was frightened as they took him away because I felt everything was so unexplained to me. I had to be assured they were bringing him back but I was still afraid. We waited a long time, it felt like at least half an hour. Finally the doctor came in and explained to us that his veins were so weak that there was no way they could insert it regularly and that they would have to go through the heart. He told us that while we would not be able to be present for this, they could sedate him and we could be with him while falls asleep. After a few minutes a nurse hurriedly brought him in wrapped in a green towel and placed him on the table. She didn't carry him right and his limbs were sticking out every which way. He looked confused and scared, and his fur was wet. I didn't want to move him, and it was so hard to wrap myself around him while he laid on the table. I couldn't tell if he was falling asleep because his state before was so similar. The nurse came back too fast, and I thought I was ready but I wasn't. I said goodbye again as she picked him up and began to take him away. She stopped for me, but it wasn't long enough. I thought it was at the time but it wasn't. She held him strangely again; his body was stiff, but his eyes were open and I couldn't tell where he was looking or if he was looking anywhere at all. Then she left the room with him.
We stood there for a minute, and dried our eyes. I didn't know what to do or think or where I should be standing or sitting or doing. My dad suggested we just go, and I went with it because what else did we have to be there for? Then I got home and went back to sleep, but I couldn't. It was all so fast. Did it really even happen? We got there at 12 and it was only a little past 2 now. I wanted to stay. I wanted to have more time, and I wanted to stay until it was over so they could tell me he was gone. I wanted closure. But I didn't know it at the time, and it was too late.
My baby Angie sat next to my head on my pillow as I slept. I lit a candle and the light dancing on the ceiling distracted her, and then distracted me, so I had to blow it out even though I wanted to leave it burning all night. When I woke up I heard Angie meowing in the hall. My dad said he saw her wandering around, as if she was looking for her brother.
At this point I've been writing this for maybe over an hour and it's been really hard for me, plus it's getting late, so please excuse any spelling or grammar errors, of which I'm sure there are many.
My past therapist recommended that my dad and I do something together to "honor" Mac, or just basically do something special together and remember him. I felt we should go to the beach. So on Sunday we headed to Wildwood. There's something nostalgic about the beach for me. Although the windchill was well below freezing that day, it didn't matter. Just driving there together was enough. On the way there we stopped at a bunch of little antique shops, and outside one of the shops there were a bunch of cats hanging out. They didn't seem to mind the cold or wind. I realized that there were at least three black cats there, and every one of them had their tongue sticking out. It was really strange, but funny. They loved being pet, and seemed to get kind of pissed when I stopped. Their faces were round and pressed in. I always thought Mac was much more hansom than a lot of black cats. When we finally got to Wildwood nothing was open. There were only a few cars around of construction workers. It looked like a ghost town compared to the bustling atmosphere I see there every summer. So we kept going and went to Cape May to The Lobster House. My meal was sub-par. On our whole outing I didn't cry once. Even on the long drive with nothing but our thoughts. I suppose I was done crying for the time being, because the day before I remember looking in the mirror I was actually surprised at how puffy and strange my eyes looked.
I thought school would be hard for me at first, but coming back everything felt the same. The lack of change for me was almost upsetting in its self. On Tuesday after class I knew Rose would be getting a lot of alcohol, and I foolishly made it a priority to get trashed, since I had never actually been before. At first I felt really nice, there just wasn't any room to think about bad things(which is odd I guess), but in the moment it was only the other people in room with me. I don't think I'm making sense any more, I'm really tired. But anyway. I ended up falling out of my chair, puking all in my hair, having the chair fall on me, and then the two guys there dragged me into the bathroom. Not to be gross or anything, but I never throw up. In fact, I've only vomited once, ever. So this was quite unpleasant and strange for me. I don't even remember how long I was in there or how much I puked but when I woke up again Rose was asleep in there with me and it was at least three hours later. I'll never forget how shitty that night was, or how completely horrible I felt for almost ruining their carpet and not being able to clean up after myself. I also have a HUGE ass bruise on my upper thigh and I don't remember how I fell but my the side of my face has also felt hurty for a while.
I know some of my friends would be ready to tsk tsk me, but I already know how much of a dumbass I am guys, for serious.
I had more to write but I think that's quite enough for a while. I kind of focused on the misery that has infected my life lately, while it really hasn't been that bad in comparison to all my other days.