Saturday, November 16, 2019

I Hate Goodbyes

Cato was mine from the time he was two weeks old until his last breath yesterday.
He was born on a friend's porch and I picked him from the litter. We didn't stop by the friend's house to see kittens, but when a stampede of tiny balls of fluff command your attention, you give it. I told my mom I hoped the kitten would keep his blue eyes and talk a lot. Cato was exactly what I wished for.
I didn't know what to initially name him, but I was in the midst of my Hunger Games phase. And since the series is not only compelling to read but also full of perfect pet names, he became Cato.
His sister became Rue.
When he first came home weeks after picking him, he was small enough to fit in my palm. Also--apparently I was not a photographer 8 years ago. This is as cringeworthy as they get.
Here's a slightly better kitten picture. His fur went every way no matter how much I brushed it until he was full grown.
At times he was more dog than cat. He knew his name and how to sit and beg. He thought he'd protect the house when people came over by standing guard at the door. Other times he was full cat, setting hard boundaries about the people he wanted to be around.
From a young kitten, I dressed him up and taught him to pose.
Every single one of my furry pets have been subjected to dress up time.
Bullet, who passed away two years ago.
Christmas.
He was my shadow. Often when I was doing anything model horse related he was in the middle of it.
Supervisor.
He traveled a few times to Chincoteague and the Pocono mountains. He assumed he was supposed to tag along whenever suitcases were brought out.
Over the summer he lost weight, but gained it back. Alarms didn't sound to me.
When I came home from Breyerfest, however, I looked at the litterbox and assumed my sister wasn't on top of it as much as me. The next morning I realized she'd been doing a great job--he was peeing a lot. Then I noticed the amount of drinking he was doing and took him to the vet. He was diagnosed with diabetes.
His weight kept dropping even with adjusted dosages.
Animals live in the present and when Cato stopped doing the things he enjoyed doing, I realized it was time and it'd only be selfish for me to keep him here. The final gift I could give him was letting him go.
It didn't make the decision any easier. I expected to not have to think about that decision until I was in my 30s because he was only 7.
The only problem with pets is there's never enough time with them. He was a good cat and I will miss him.

8 comments:

  1. I'm so sorry. What a pretty cat he was.

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  2. A good cat and a beautiful one,... as is his tribute.

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  3. Lovely homage to a lovely cat. I’m so sorry for your loss. May good memories heal your heart.

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  4. I am so sorry. He was a lucky kitty to be tours. Hugs to you.

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  5. They never ever stay long enough, but seven years is still much too short. I am so sorry.

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  6. I send my heartfelt condolences for your loss of your beloved Cato. No matter how many times we must let our furbabies cross RB ahead of us, it hurts badly every time.

    Cato is beautiful. You gave him a wonderful life and I can tell by your photos he knew he was loved. ❤️

    Sincerely,

    Amy Deak
    (fellow horse lover, petmom, and a big fan of your model tack work!)

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  7. I'm so sorry, losing pets is so hard :(

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