Tigger

 

I had to say goodbye to my beautiful Tigger last month.

If you know anything about me, I had been dreading this day since the day I got my cats. When I got into stoicism, I used to practice negative visualization by picturing the day either of them died. And here it is.

It was the hardest thing I had ever gone through. But just like I would tell myself when I was in the thick of it, it got easier. Three weeks later, I feel ok enough to sob through writing something about it.

Tigger got a tumor on her neck. After seeing her lab results (which were perfect except for high calcium), the vet suspected it was an injection-site sarcoma. We never confirmed it with a biopsy because the vet said it wasn't treatable anyway. It grew in a matter of weeks and she was living up to her Young Weezy nickname toward the end. Once she stopped eating and was struggling to breathe, we decided it would be better to end her suffering.

Even though I don't doubt it was the right decision, it was incredibly heart-wrenching to go through. I still think I hear her sometimes walking around the house. I think about her face, her long tail, and her perfect ears that moved so effortlessly without moving any other muscles -- all of her was still perfect, even the morning she died, except for that fucking tumor.

I loved Tigger.

I loved my friend. 

[She] went away from me. 

There’s nothing more to say. 

The poem ends, 

Soft as it began,—

I loved my friend. 

- Langston Hughes

P.S. (Mostly a note for myself for later) A friend sent me this post about grief and it was surprisingly helpful.