Today, my cat Lilly died. Lillian Abixaboo was her full pedigree name, she was a stubborn, stroppy Burmese, chocolate brown in colour. Over the last month she had become quite listless and I knew her time was coming. Her behaviour became strange over the past year and her cries were that of a cat who forgot faster than the 2 second goldfish rule. So after us being together since she was a baby and since i was 21…
You can imagine already that the call of the death angels was bound to arrive swiftly. Time for the cat angels to pick up her soul on their way to the fish and chip shop in cat heaven. She still lies on my bed, wrapped in my jumper, her head popping out because I have a fear she may not be dead. But there is no movement, no heart beat, no breath and before she died she had what looked like a fit.
Lilly was the oldest cat I knew, I had no idea that she would have lived this long. Giving herself at least a couple more months on planet earth she would have been 24 years old in November. Maybe a bit more, but I have to find her birth certificate to find that one out. I don’t know where that is right now. My eyes are stinging from the tears and my chest feels tight. I wasn’t a brilliant mum to her and she wasn’t a brilliant cat to me.
Living in a world of stropping and lashing out at friends who popped in just because she didn’t take to them being in her space was the norm. She was always loveable to me, and I guess that’s all that mattered. I will tell people tomorrow. Tracy said I can bury her in her garden as i don’t really want her at Hornimans. I’m glad she was with me, I’m glad she wasn’t put to sleep. She died because she was old and couldn’t go on much further. but it will be odd, I know it. I know what the smell of death is now. I smelt it on Mummy, but thought it was just me, but Lilly had the same odour too. Not that my mum smelt like a cat, but there was something strikingly familiar about the smell.
I put passion fruit oil on her before wrapping her, so now she smells like a big ole fruit that she most certainly was. How odd it will be not to hear her scream when I walk int he door. Or hear her whine on and bitch to me in her lingo. It got on my nerves some days, but now its gone, what will replace it?
I am tired, but can’t sleep. She’s on my bed. There’s no where else she can be. I need to know she won’t wake up before she goes into the ground at Tracy’s. I dread her being alive and I just don’t know. So I looked up on theinternet and most of what people write is not what she went through. But maybe its my own fears of death underground that prevent me from wrapping her completely.
We shall see. from this day on passion fruit will remind me of this day.
You can imagine already that the call of the death angels was bound to arrive swiftly. Time for the cat angels to pick up her soul on their way to the fish and chip shop in cat heaven. She still lies on my bed, wrapped in my jumper, her head popping out because I have a fear she may not be dead. But there is no movement, no heart beat, no breath and before she died she had what looked like a fit.
Lilly was the oldest cat I knew, I had no idea that she would have lived this long. Giving herself at least a couple more months on planet earth she would have been 24 years old in November. Maybe a bit more, but I have to find her birth certificate to find that one out. I don’t know where that is right now. My eyes are stinging from the tears and my chest feels tight. I wasn’t a brilliant mum to her and she wasn’t a brilliant cat to me.
Living in a world of stropping and lashing out at friends who popped in just because she didn’t take to them being in her space was the norm. She was always loveable to me, and I guess that’s all that mattered. I will tell people tomorrow. Tracy said I can bury her in her garden as i don’t really want her at Hornimans. I’m glad she was with me, I’m glad she wasn’t put to sleep. She died because she was old and couldn’t go on much further. but it will be odd, I know it. I know what the smell of death is now. I smelt it on Mummy, but thought it was just me, but Lilly had the same odour too. Not that my mum smelt like a cat, but there was something strikingly familiar about the smell.
I put passion fruit oil on her before wrapping her, so now she smells like a big ole fruit that she most certainly was. How odd it will be not to hear her scream when I walk int he door. Or hear her whine on and bitch to me in her lingo. It got on my nerves some days, but now its gone, what will replace it?
I am tired, but can’t sleep. She’s on my bed. There’s no where else she can be. I need to know she won’t wake up before she goes into the ground at Tracy’s. I dread her being alive and I just don’t know. So I looked up on theinternet and most of what people write is not what she went through. But maybe its my own fears of death underground that prevent me from wrapping her completely.
We shall see. from this day on passion fruit will remind me of this day.
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