Isadora (2002-2011)...

Yesterday was one of the worst days of my life. It started off as normally as any Saturday and ended in heartbreak such as I haven't experienced in a very long time. The DH wasn't feeling well, so we agreed to just chill out on the sofa all day. We watched some TV, I took a bath. As I was getting out of the shower, our fire alarm went off randomly. (It does that sometimes.) We got that taken care of then decided it was about time to have some lunch. As I headed through the entry-way and into the dining room, I noticed our oldest cat, Izzy, laying in the floor, sort of half in the kitchen and half in the dining room. I called to her, said something mindless like, "Izzy, baby, what are you doing, you silly girl?" I mean, she's a cat, ya know? They're freaking weird, wild creatures and therefore unpredictable. But she didn't move. Not even a whisker twitch. I leaned down to check on her and simultaneously noticed four things that were very, very wrong: Her eyes were wide open, her mouth was open, there was drool on the floor and she had urinated. I shook her a little bit and heard myself saying, "Baby, I think she's DEAD!" I said "I think" without really thinking, because it was clear that she was gone. I jumped back and DH leaned down to her and said, "Baby girl?" I got back down on the floor, weeping and shaking my head and saying, "oh no my baby, my poor poor baby," over and over again...Then it hit me hard that she was really really gone...And this sound...this god-awful wailing started escaping from somewhere in my guts...I was screaming and crying and I know, I know, she's a CAT but damnit, she's MY CAT and I love her!! And all the DH could do was hold me while I rocked back and forth. In that horrible, shocky way we humans have, I stood up and tried to pull myself together. I couldn't figure out what to do with myself or with her. And then it hit me, she needed to be wrapped in something. So I went into the back bedroom and came out with her favorite yellow blankie she used to sleep on. DH helped me put her on it and sort of wrap her up in it. I leaned back down and started petting her some more and telling her how sorry I was...

And I was. I was so so very sorry...Sorry it had happened, sorry I hadn't been there, sorry it wasn't what I had imagined for her. I imagined that YEARS from now, she would get sick, we would take her to the vet, we would get the bad news, we would opt to put her to sleep, and I could be there with her as she drifted off to sleep for good. But it didn't work out that way. I was left to find my beloved pet's corpse in the middle of a cold kitchen floor on a sunny March Saturday...completely unprepared for it in every way.

As I sat there on my hands and knees, keening for my beautiful lost pet, her life began to flash before my eyes...The day I brought her home as a tiny black fluffball of a kitten during Labor Day weekend 2002, after some boy had wounded my ego. Cracking up after bringing her home from the vet after her spay surgery, because she was drunk on the anesthesia still--so much so that she face-planted out of the cardboard box I was transporting her in, then mustered all her drunken dignity to stagger across the living room. Going to the bathroom one night only to find her curled up asleep, in the bathtub, with her stuffed pink piggy under her paw like a child would hold a teddy bear. Introducing the DH to her and watching as they bonded over early-morning pee sessions. Wanting to toss her across the room every morning because her favorite way to wake us up was with a plastic bag, and she ALWAYS got the last "word." Watching her sweet face as she listened to voice mails the DH would leave her on the answering machine at home. Not being able to find her for 3 days after we moved into our new apartment because she was so completely freaked-out. The way she would get 3 of 4 paws out on the balcony but no more--as long as she had that 1 foot still inside the apartment, she was safe. Her sense of horror that turned into near-loathing each time I brought home another cat. Her poses, her sass, her constant irritation with me. She was just so put-upon, you know. Her demands to be present in the bathroom whenever I soaked or showered. Her further demands while in the bathroom that I blow bubbles for her, which she LOVED. Her resemblance to the famous cat on the "Tournee du Chat Noir" poster, beneath which she would pose just like the picture. Her loathing of the camera. Her quiet snoring as she slept behind my head on the sofa.

She was an awesome cat for all the reasons that most people hate cats: She was black with eerie green-yellow eyes, she accepted affection on her terms and her terms ONLY, she would go for days without acknowledging my presence (or anyone else's, for that matter), she really loved those who were allergic to her, and she was just all-around a mean bitch. So, when she deigned to curl up on my chest, look me in the eyes and sigh, put her dainty paws on my shoulder and drift off to sleep, well...I never felt so loved or trusted.

But there she was, dead, in the middle of the floor. Such a shocking, undignified end for such a beautifully regal creature. And now what? There was no vet to call--they were closed. By the time we finally got ahold of someone, we couldn't form the questions correctly in order to get the answers we needed. What the fuck were we supposed to do with her? I mean, I know, cremation, burying, etc. But what if something was wrong with her that was also wrong with the other cats? We may need to have her examined or tested. And we couldn't get that done until Monday, so...what...I mean, how...I mean...We had no clue. Finally the kind lady at the pet cremation place gently told us that we should preserve her with some ice in a cooler until the vet could examine her. We don't own a cooler. So we got dressed. We said our good-byes to her and wrapped her fully in her yellow blankie and gently put her in a plastic bag and carried her out to the garage, where we placed her in a storage bin until we could...well, you know. We drove to Atwood's and as the sun streamed in through the windows of the car, all I could think was how fucked-up and surreal and awful it was for this to be happening to us on such a beautiful day. For us to be driving to buy a fucking new cooler in which to store our dead pet for the next 2 days. To try to figure out what size cooler we needed and how much ice. It was awful. So we came home and we put her in the cooler, careful to make sure the opening of the bag was above the ice and that we didn't pour too much on top of her. And it's still awful, because as I type this, she's still out there...I keep going out there and checking to make sure the ice level is ok and I have to remind myself that it's not really her anymore. It's just a body and whatever made her Izzy is gone.

Last night was hard. I drugged myself with a Lortab I'd been saving for a rainy day. I still couldn't sleep well. I dreamed of dead cats and worried so much about my other ones that I finally got up and slept on the couch in the living room with them. I haven't cried as much today and I know it will get easier. But I miss her. She was my girl. My first pet that I adopted as an adult, all my own. She saw me through heartbreak and happiness. And now she's gone. I have the other cats, and they are each special to me as well, but Izzy was my closest, my oldest, my...My Izzy.

RIP, my darling girl. You are my sunshine, always and forever.
Love,
Mommy