last night I cried about you, tonight I find I'm crying too

give me a drink 'cause I'm starting to think that I'm broken
got no confession but still my reflection provokes it
I hold the gavel and judgements unravel for who I've been...

(This is going to be a hard one. Feel free to skip past it if you're not in an equable place.)

feeling the weight of the all
medicating the turbulence

Studious observers of the blog will remember that, while things from beyond this blog's specific focii creep in from time to time, I try not to let it?

This one's...all RL.

the mask in the mirror is not getting clearer to comprehend
where do I begin?

This is Norma. She was between six and eight years old when we got her, and...there's a whole strange story behind this cat I can tell you, if you want, but my main point is...this is...this...was...our cat.

I'm at the waters edge
in my anxiousness
what does it mean
to be seen
without the need to defend--

left to myself in both sickness and health
I can't do it
skin deep interactions
distraction's the way to get through it--

Everything we've done has been with the goal of making sure she knows she's loved, she knows she can declare boundaries, she knows she can have nightmares and not fear getting hit. (I'll say this--from a hoarder house, and apparently a bad one, so yes, she was a cat with trauma.) Everything, to give her the will and the confidence to stand up for herself.

everyone tells me that I should be happy for where I've been
but selling and sharing the shell that I'm wearing is wearing thin
hoping to find and in time recognize my own reflection
where do I begin?

This was one of her normal sleep modes. Cuddling, 'talking' to us, wandering around...plonk into a soft thing. We worried at first, but it wasn't a neurological issue, she'd move after a bit. She just liked that forward head drop into soft.

never let anyone know that
underneath the surface
what a vulnerable, nervous child I am but--

And...this was the second to last shot of her, in the oxygen kennel, because she was unable to breathe on her own. She had wanted to show us she was okay, really, and had actually pushed to her feet, the first time since heart surgery...and got in the litterbox, trying to go...and...couldn't, because she hadn't eaten or drunk anything, even though it was nearby, for twenty hours. And she collapsed there, head hanging on the edge.

I'll see it again
at the water's edge
with no answers left
what does it mean
is it me
or just a stranger again...

She was suffering. She was not recovering. So...we made the decision to let her go, and..they gave her a mild sedative so she would breathe more slowly, and be able to be removed from oxygen. She was arranged on one of my partner's laps, wrapped up warm, while the vet tech explained that it would be just like going to sleep. She wouldn't feel anything, just sleepy.

We've been here before. We've developed a tendency of adopting older shelter cats, the ones most people look over, and unsurprisingly, a lot of these end up with problems. Some we've had for years. Xena, our cat before Norma, we had for...twenty-four months, until a savage bone cancer ate away half her skull and blinded her in one eye. There was no saving us; she was in whatever counts in cats for stage four.

The vet told us, when we asked if it was our fault, that there was literally no way to tell without access to an X-ray machine. Because she literally went from fine to "why is her skull spongy oh god" in seventy-two hours.

The tech inserted the needle in the arm tap for our cat, which was still on from surgery. Norma looked up at Ms. Neome, meowed once, and before the tech could even depress the needle...she was gone.

It was like...she'd been waiting to see at least one of us before she could go.

That was at...7:05 pm SLT, and...I think I need to wander off now. I don't know why I wrote this, and I'll probably regret it later, but...I just...I wanted to commemmorate, I suppose. Something of her strength. And how hard she fought not to give up.

We miss her so much.

(Song lyrics taken from The Classic Crime's The Water's Edge. Thank you, M, for sending it to me. And here's five things about grief no one really tells you, but that are true, nonetheless, for whatever help it gives.)