It’s coming through now. No more sleepy morning cuddles. No more relaxing together and companionable tail hugs. No more playing computer games together and holding her at night. Everything is grey https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=iNiUG33rSyY

I’m remembering how funny and sweet Melbcat was, feeling like a monster for just numbly powering through the first week after she died as if nothing had changed, handling everything and speaking so much on everything else (including this other cat) like she hadn’t just died. I was hysterical while making the decision but afterwards something broke and shut off.

Missing her big soft teddy body, her warm weight against me, and the silky thickness of her fur. The tiny snoring and the granny grumbles. Her head on my shoulder. The holding onto items (and me) with her prehensile monkey tail. The pops of her claws catching on the carpet as she walked (she passively resisted having them cut) and the ding and lap of her having a drink. Crunching of her beloved biccies. The familiar sounds are gone. The routine is gone.

Wondering if some of her odd behaviours were her trying to tell me how sick she was. I’m seeing dead-on signs in hindsight. But I never understood. Despite all the vet visits they never picked it up. Even though I had her seen repeatedly in that time I still wish I hadn’t been so complacent in those weeks after minor surgery (intended to prevent something like this) and at least known sooner that I couldn’t save her. Chemo or surgery wouldn’t have saved her because she was also having heart failure. I found out then made a hard decision that night and had her put down the next day.

I think I need to step back from the black cat emotionally because he’s indicated plainly that he doesn’t want help, I can’t just fix the situation, and I need to focus on myself. He could never replace her and I’m not even seeing him around right now due to sleeping my life away.

I will be removing the half-made quarantine setup and returning my back room to how it looked when Melbcat was alive. Even if she’s not around to drink water or sleep there in the sun I wasn’t ready for it to have changed. The beds and bowls in the front room remain untouched (except the blanket in the hidey box was removed for washing). Even the litterboxes are still in their spots. Every time I do laundry or vacuum I’m removing the traces of her from my house and soon all I’ll have left is a bag of whiskers, a bag of shed fur from the brush, digital photos and her ashes.

I didn’t take enough photos towards the end. I didn’t know it was coming.

I’m debating sharing photos from her life but trying to pick the best ones that don’t show too much of my surroundings or my face. The ones from afterwards look so peaceful, like she’s only sleeping in my arms, but I don’t know if that’s appropriate to share and wouldn’t just post those without warning.