I am an unmarried, child-free, twenty-something. Daughter of a mother with OCD (the hoarding, list-making kind) and an absent Vietnam veteran father. I have 4 siblings, 2 from my father's side whom I have never met, one full-blood brother whom you will read more about later, and one younger half-sister from my mother's side who was adopted to a family who, in theory, could better meet her needs. Writing this seems like a lie to me. It is not and this is a basic gist. I have always lived in Washington, I love this state. I currently have one cat. She takes the place of the child I don't want. I recently lost my older cat, him being the reason I am starting a blog.
This year has been compounding into what feels like a full-on shit storm. In April, my Sam, who brought 7 amazing years to my life was killed by a coyote. Or so a neighbor suspected. He had been missing 5 days when the man called me. I had the same sinking feeling when he did not come home for breakfast that I had when I knocked on my brothers door 5 days before I found out he would never be coming home either. I feel like I have lost a child. One that I knew would be going before I would most likely. Nonetheless, I thought we would at least have another 7 years together before I would have to say goodbye. I assumed he would have kidney failure at 17 or 18 and I would hold him near the end to comfort him or to at least comfort myself since cats prefer to go quietly off somewhere as to not disturb anyone. As if no one would notice them leaving. Instead, I have the horrific picture of his final moments. I nearly get ill to think of him being the behemoth of a cat he was to not have me to fight off a coyote for him. I imagine myself being able to fight off the worthless animal with my bare hands as any mother should do if they were defending their child from any attack. I can't shake the guilt that for a second time I slept while a loved one was facing traumatic last moments with out me to protect them from death. I close my eyes at night and see the gruesome images of what my mind concocts. I hate myself for it. I hate that shows like CSI has given my mind the tools to put together these images. I don't watch that shit anymore.
Sam came into my life in 2006. At the time I worked as a cashier for a chain department store. I hated the way I was existing. I was depressed but could not afford the medication I needed. My boyfriend at the time would have dissapproved of me taking it anyway really. As I walked in to work I spotted a cat running through the parking lot under cars. I took note, but there was nothing I could do. Some time later, I was leaving my closing shift and there was the black cat. He ran from me, I called to him "kitty kitty" he paused, looked and meowed at me. But slinked under a car, I approached him slowly and reached out and pulled him out from under the parked car. It was late February or early March. I can't remember which now. But, it was biting cold. He was skin vaccum sealed over bones. He had dog bites on him as well. I had no other thought in mind but that he was going home with me and I would just have to make my roomate see how desperate he was. I got him into the car and tried to give him beef jerkey, he was so terrified he just meowed. That was the first of many hated car rides for him. When we got to the drive-way and I let him out he almost made a dash down the alley and I called to him, "kitty kitty". He turned and meowed. I got him into the yard and rushed in to get some canned cat food I had stashed in case this sort of thing should happen. As he ate mouthfuls he ran back and forth from me to the food dish. The poor thing had food falling from his mouth while he rubbed against me thanking me. He was purring like crazy. He expressed gratitude in such an obvious way. I will never forget that moment.
After he had his fill, I snuck him to my bedroom I was renting and petted him. He got his name: Sam Bones Walton. I put him outside later and hoped he would be on the porch in the morning. He wasn't, I didn't worry too much. I figured if would be back at night since that is when he knew I was there. I waited all day. That night he returned, purring as soon as I pet him. The way he would everytime for our lives spent together. We had saved each other.
