making sense of his death

My beauty.
My baby.
My Cassidy kitten.

I only had him for a month, the last month of his life.

He spent the first few weeks of his life living in a noisy, dirty industrial complex with his birth-mother and litter mates, dodging trucks, lift loaders, city raccoons and other dangers.

My girlfriend Geri rescued him. Thinking he was a female, I immediately foisted him upon my mother to help her fill the gap left by little Kate who died of FPV (feline peritonitis virus).

Discovering he was male and not female, my mother put him in her kennel in the "nursery" cage and didn't really warm up to him as her own. She was reluctant to integrate him into the household.
So, I grabbed him for myself.

My big guys took to him very well.
There was much less hissing than with other new introductions.
Xander adopted Cassidy as his baby.

I looked forward to a big, robust tiger cat who would live to be 21 like my Jacob.

In his short time with me he taught me about my own strength (click here for that story)
then died the next day of cardiac arrest on the operating table while getting neutered.

A freak accident.
A fluke.

Most of my cats have been to this particular vet with no problems.
It was just Cassidy's time.

Or so I'm telling myself.

I'm telling myself lots of things while I try desperately to reason with fate as to WHY this had to happen.
I'm blaming myself for not sensing danger was imminent when he fell behind the dresser as if that was a sign to warn me of the heart attack.

I'm blaming my mother for not giving him to me sooner to strengthen up his heart and leaving him alone during his kittenhood.
I'm blaming the vet and all his technicians for giving him too much anesthesia.

I'm making up nice stories about how he came into my life for such a short time because he had a message to deliver and once delivered, he moved on.

I'm accusing myself of not really wanting a sixth cat thereby sending Cassidy the psychic vibes that he was unwanted.

I'm shaking my fist at God for taking him.

I'm getting all logical about it saying that expectations lead to disappointments, telling myself that no one is guaranteed a long life, that I should be grateful for the short time he spent with me.

But the bleak reality is that I had his little life with me and now he's gone.

He was here one day and gone the next.

Just like all of us.
Here today gone tomorrow no matter what we do to try to cheat death.

Death is a part of life.

Every time I get a new animal I take that risk.
I risk loving them with all my heart and getting my heart broken when/if anything should happen to them.

Something happened.
My greatest fear was realized.
Someone I loved, someone whose well-being was in my charge, died.
Blaming and reasoning can't bring him back.

There's no right, wrong or reason that will make sense to me.
There is only what is.

What is there?
Feelings, lots of feelings
and a headache from crying for two days...so far.

And 5 magnificent animals who are thriving in my care.
I just made Hurley go pprrrrooooooop when I touched his head.

*Lisa's Video Pick of the Day*
Chocolate Box Entertainment - the same folks making "Peep Me" the documentary that will feature me (and my cats) - made the doc called "Cat Ladies".
Here's the trailer.
I like the woman who, when accused of being a crazy cat lady, says that anyone who would abandon an animal is crazy, not the ones who feed and care for them!
click here or click below