The grand villain of my family died a few months ago. And there was much rejoicing (seriously). I told the the non-family people around me that I didn’t need any soft, touchy-feely bullshit when it happened. But some people are fucking stupid, so I got far too much soft, touchy-feely bullshit. I should have told them I didn’t need money… or a green Lamborghini Veneno.
The second greatest cat to ever walk the planet died in the early morning hours of January 4th this year.
It was the hardest death I’ve ever been part of. I know that the vets, their assistants, and I all did everything we thought was right in the days and hours leading up to his death. We somehow still ended up in a situation where Meo was clearly suffering, the vet’s hand was spurting blood from a nasty bite, and I was begging them to kill someone I love.
I have some incredible people in my life. People who value their four-legged family members the same way I do; and people who don’t have that kind of animal bond, but who understand and respect that I do.
I also know some people who are just fucking stupid. The same ones who thought I should be wailing over the death of a human villain figured I shouldn’t care about the loss of a loving and lovable part of my family because he was “just” a cat.
I will not say these things to you if your child, or anyone else you love, dies:
Don’t you have another one?
Yes, I do. And since they’re clones of one another, it shouldn’t matter that one of them just died. Actually, I have some pictures, so I may as well just kill this one too. It will save space if I get some frames from the dollar store and put my boys up on the wall. And why stop there? I have pictures of my niece too…
You can’t take a day off work just to bury him.
I dare anyone to say this to someone who’s just lost their kid. I’m not an emergency room doctor or a head of state. Nobody loses limbs if I don’t go to work. People may well have lost limbs, or at least an eye, if I had gone to work the day after Meo died.
This comment, fortunately, did not come from my boss – when I called to say I was taking the day off to bury Meo, she was nothing but concerned, understanding, and supportive (that’s a pretty great boss right there).
You have to get over this.
True. Can you give me a calendar so I know exactly when I’m not supposed to care anymore? Is there a “get over this” pill that you could recommend? My multi-vitamin doesn’t seem to be working. Maybe you can run me through the stages of grief on my coffee break so I can stop crying at night when Meo doesn’t come to annoy me in bed.
I can’t believe you spent so much money on him.
Me neither. If something like this happens again, I’ll absolutely consider my bank account first, like any other normal person. Say, for example, your mother had cancer. You’d just crush the morphine, mash it in her potatoes, and be done with it, right? Of course you would. There’s no good reason to spend your hard-earned cash on a medical bed or a private nurse. Maybe your brother has a brain injury. Why not tip the wheelchair into the lake instead of just sitting there watching birds and wiping his drool?
I will not say these things to you if your child, or anyone else you love, dies. But I will say them to every soulless fuck who said them to me in the days after I had to ask someone to kill Meo while I buried my face in his fur and listened to him gasp his last painful breaths.
Ongoing soundtrack to my life the past couple months: