First journal entry in years... pretty much literally, I'm sure.
Today we took him to get cremated. He was my darling boy for 13 years.
When I was pregnant with my first daughter, I had gotten him. I told him that he was going to have a sister. He would lay on my stomach, or next to my head. When she was born, I would put a small statue of Bastet next to her bed to protect her. When the statue wasn't there to watch her, anymore, Tybalt took up the slack, and watched over her, protectively. When she was three, she got a puppy, and when he accidentally knocked her on her butt, making her cry from shock, Tybalt chased that puppy on three legs while the fourth was in the air like a gatling gun, just "pawpawpawpawpawpawpawpawpaw!!!" He defended my daughters, he let them drag him around without so much as a growl in complaint.
And to me, he was there. He knew when I needed to be comforted. It makes me feel like a failure. I should have known when I was needed. If I had gotten him to a vet earlier, he might still be alive. He had liver disease, and something up with his gallbladder. His vet said that there was hope... but that very night, when he was left to be taken care of... he died.
I miss him. I miss him, so much. So so much. I've been throwing myself into debate, even when the debate itself doesn't necessarily make sense. I need my brain to keep working and working to keep me from just breaking down.
I've seen him in places around the house, ghosts of places where I'm used to seeing him. I've written more about this topic in the past two days than I have written about...well, just about anything else. He was my baby boy, my little prince.
 daChaosKitty · Thu May 03, 2012 @ 04:16am · 0 Comments |
