I don't understand people sometimes, myself especially in this case.
Last night I found out that my cat, Luna, died on Tuesday night. My father had been wanting to call me to tell me, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. It was all very rough on him anyway, so I can't blame him.
He's the one that has taken care of her for the past 11 years anyway since I moved out of his house, so maybe it'd be better to say it was his cat rather than mine?
I was the one that picked her out at the pet store though, that named her (not like a lot of thought was put into that though since I wanted a cat specifically to name it Luna), that tried to love and care for her as best a 14 year old girl could (which considering what a spazznut Luna was as a baby it wasn't easy, she managed to break her tail twice so she had a constant kink in it the rest of her life).
Even when I was away from her I worried about her, and I wanted to see her. The last time I visited her was in 2006 when I spent the night at my dad's. The last time I visited Washington in 2010 I wasn't able to see her because of conflicting schedules between myself, my dad and a friend of mine... I ended up choosing to spend time with the friend rather than spend the night at my dad's house (I regret that a lot now since the time I spent with that friend was less than satisfactory).
During the planning of my trip to Washington for next month I was excited about trying to see Luna again, hoping to put aside anything that would get in my way and figuring that the long period of time I plan to be there would be more than enough to fit in a couple visits even.
...But everything seems so perfect when it's really too late, isn't that just how things are in life? It feel that way now.
Tuesday night I talked to my dad and had everything planned out, I told him I'd ordered my ticket for the 3rd of next month, that I'd arrive on the 5th. He then told me that Luna had been acting strange for a couple days, not eating and just laying around or wailing sometimes. He said he was going to take her to the vet the next day to get her checked out.
...I was a bit worried, but I also thought that maybe she was just sick. He said something about how a tooth could be bothering her, so I thought maybe that was it, nothing to worry about. Even though I still felt very strongly, something telling me to ask him to put her on the phone so I could talk to her. But I'd be talking to a cat, a cat can't understand me, it'd be silly... I told myself that, and that my dad might think I'm weird.
Then I thought maybe if I tell him to hug her for me that'd be better, but I also thought that I was worrying too much, that there was no reason for it.
...To find out yesterday that only a couple hours later she was sleeping in his lap and suddenly had a horrible seizure, sending my father into panic so bad that he had to have his neighbor go with him on the drive hours away to find an emergency vet clinic to take her to... and then for him to be told that the reason she was acting strange was probably because she'd had one of the seizures previously when he wasn't around and that the seizures would continue until they finally killed her...
My father has said for a while that once Luna was gone he wouldn't get another cat, because he wouldn't be able to handle the pain again, having lost his own cat Tom something around 10 years or so ago. I can see why he feels that way, especially when he had to make the decision to have them put Luna down so she wouldn't suffer anymore.
...I hate myself for not going with my instincts and giving in to my worries about her, for not giving myself that little bit of peace of mind... I can't tell the future though, even if sometimes I think that those feelings that I ignore are something like an ability to do so. It still hurts...
When I told my mom, she asked what my father did with the body. I didn't think to ask, and I don't know when the appropriate time to ask would be. I would hope that he took her home and buried her in the back yard, but I also could understand if he didn't feel capable of doing that at the time. It still seems unlikely to me that he would just allow the vet to dispose of her though, after how much he showed he cared about her.
I think my mom wants to cremate her and do something with the ashes, but I'll admit I wouldn't want that. When I visit Washington I may still spend the night at my father's house, and while I'm there I'll try to see if there's any fur left on things Luna once slept on. Some may think it's creepy for me to put something like that in a keepsake bottle, but at the moment I'm thinking that it might help me feel a little bit better.
I'm just sort of rambling for my own benefit, sorry if it's incoherent.
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