Cloudy died last night.
We thought she was better; she'd been taken off her prescription food, and she ate without any prompting. She walked around, and gave broad hints (even going so far as to run out of the room when we opened the door) that she'd like to be let out. Then, yesterday morning, she was suddenly much worse. My mother woke me up at 4 in the morning to scream at me, because she couldn't find the syringe we used to force feed her. When I calmly told her that I'd placed on the counter, and her husband must have moved it when he cleaned the kitchen, she finally went away. I think she waited for Pollyanna right outside the bathroom door, the better to ambush him when he came out of the shower.
I looked in on Cloudy. She was flopped down on the floor, under the desk. Again. The last time she got really bad, when it looked like she was going to die, she'd been lying down under the desk. I went down to pet her, and her meow sounded plaintive. Like she was asking me to do something.
I was in such a rush when I got home last night (because we'd stopped of at PetSmart to get her special food) that I didn't go down and check on her. I'm really sorry about that. I honestly didn't think she was going to die that fast. Cats usually take a little while to die on their own, and it usually happens in stages. (I say usually.) There's usually the damn-near comatose immobile stage right there at the end. I feel so awful now.
I came home (I was really late because I'd fallen asleep at Dirk's house) to find my father waiting up for me. I'd noticed, coming in, that the light in Cloudy's room wasn't on. It's always on. My father told me that Cloudy died right after I left to go out. My mother fed her, I left, and when my father came home from work and immediately went down to check on her, she was dead. They buried her in the back yard.
There was a slight accusation in his tone when he told me this — I wondered about that. It only took me a second to realize what he was really saying. -You weren't there when she died, so we had to take care of it. We had to check to see if she was dead, and we had to carry the body to the back yard to bury it. You weren't there to do it for us. We had to deal with it without you as a buffer-
When our last cat, Buffy, died, I was the only one in the house. Everyone else was at work...I was getting ready for my final exams. I remember walking into the room and seeing Buffy dead, with her eyes wide open, her face angry. I don't think she was pleased about dying. She was rarely pleased about anything. I closed her eyes, like I'd seen on t.v. when people died, because I didn't want my mother to freak out when she saw Buffy.
I haven't asked my father if he closed Cloudy's eyes.
I wonder who, without me around to do it for them, carried Cloudy to the backyard to be buried.
I'm numb right now. I don't know what to think. It wasn't completely unexpected — Pamie's cat died. When I saw that, I couldn't help but think that Cloudy probably would, as well. Even though she was the picture of health at the time. Because, even though our cats had very different diseases, they both got sick at nearly the same time. Weird psychic bonds. Feel free to tell pamie that our cats were psychically bonded. I'm not going to, because I don't want her to think I'm a freak.
I'm sorry for all the times I made fun of Cloudy because she was fat. I'm sorry for all the times I called her stupid, because she would start purring if I waved a finger in front of her face. I'm sorry for not petting her enough, and for pushing her off my lap just because I was horribly allergic to her fur and I didn't like the long black-and-white hairs sticking all over my clothing. I hope she remembers how hard we tried. Just for her. I hope she doesn't blame us for Genghis stressing her out, and I hope she doesn't hate Genghis for being the idiot cat who tormented her. I hope she's happy, wherever she is.
Genghis keeps walking into the room where we were isolating her. He sniffs around, happy, because he wasn't being allowed into the room while she was sick. He doesn't like being kept out of rooms. I get this urge to pick him up and shake him while screaming, "It's all your fault, you destructive little shit! You stressed her out, so she got a nervous condition that killed her!"
Genghis wouldn't understand. He'd probably make a curious little trilling noise, then reach out one of his paws to play with my hair.
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It was as though someone stopped my dream and said, "Hold please. We have an important message for you." I felt that awful sinking/dizzy feeling that I get whenever I have one of those goddamn dreams. The future ones. I fought it. I didn't want to know. I screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed....
And woke up. Covered in sweat. In Dirk's room, lit only by a dim night-light. It was past midnight, and I'd been due home at 11. I'd escaped.
Usually, I can't make myself wake up.
