As I get older I realise that certain parts of my life are never entirely going to go away; every person has a certain amount of baggage that they have to carry with them through life, and that’s very much part of the lovely collection of feeling, memories, etc which make up “the human experience” (whatever the hell that’s supposed to mean). I’m actually pretty good at putting on a brave face of stuff and being..well, very British about it all.
Stiff upper lip, don’t let them see you hurting, etc. This hasn’t always worked out for the best, because to some it can have the unfortunate side effect of making me appear aloof or uncaring. Not true. I just prefer to keep my feelings to myself rather than shouting about them from the rooftops. Those that need to know how I’m feeling will know, and those that don’t need to know, just don’t need to know. To be fair I’ve not always been very good at deciding who ‘needs to know’ and who doesn’t, which
Anyway. I got some news today which sufficiently bummed me out that I feel a need to write about it in this echo chamber of a blog in the corner of the internet. When I was married, we had three cats. First there were Jax and Sophie, whom my ex had had for quite some time before I ever showed up, and then Amber came along later when we rescued her from a vet’s office that would otherwise have put her down. Amber attached herself to me – this was because after we got her we were told to separate her from the other two so they could used to her…so for that first week I stayed in the spare room a lot so she wouldn’t be scared. After that she rather followed me around (and she continues to, even now) The other two were great as well; Jax was the sweetest cat I’ve ever seen. Sophie was a diva, which was also great.
After I separated I kept all three cats for quite some time. About 18 months, I think – and they were actually very therapeutic at a time when things really weren’t going particularly well for me. I used to joke with people that my cats ate better than me, but for most of that year and a half, that was actually true. I had bugger all money, so I was eating not very much while I made sure that the cats were ok. In any case, eventually my ex settled elsewhere and said that she wanted her cats back. I wasn’t particularly happy about it but I honestly didn’t have the energy to argue (and like I said, technically they were her animals anyway) so off they went.
I heard today that Jax has a particularly nasty form of feline cancer called lung digit syndrome. Googling it (let’s face it, never really something designed to make you feel better) tells me that is pretty terminal. So I’m quite upset. True, I’ve not seen her for 2 years, but for a long time this cat was a big part of my life. I still have pictures of her on my phone. (I mean, I was always taking pictures of all three cats and anybody who follows me on social media knows I like a cat picture). I was looking at them earlier. Quite depressing really.
Jax was put to sleep this morning. Not a surprise at all, and I’m sort of glad that she’s not suffering any more, but it still sucks.