So this is turning in to one of the worst weeks I’ve had in a long time. And I know that this and my last post will make this one my second self pitying post in a row, and I know I haven’t been that popular on here lately. Probably because of the enormous amount of turd that is my life right now not allowing me to communicate properly like I used to. But I’m getting there again just bare with me.
Just to add some more salt to the wounds that my mother has that have recently had the scab pulled off and is about as raw as you get at the moment, first her mother, now her cat. Our cat. One of the cats I grew up had to be put down yesterday. I didn’t even realise I would be as upset about it as I am, but I think I’ve been genuinely crying out of grief over the cat more then Nanna.
We got this cat at the end of 2003, on Boxing Day, the day after Christmas. I was 12, going into high school at the start of 2004. We had already picked up a kitten from the RSPCA (Royal Society for the prevention of Cruelty to Animals) about a week prior to Christmas, but since Aunty D was trying to get rid of some kittens for a friend, mum ended up getting a kitten of D too, for the other one to play with. The first one from the RSPCA I called Rogue. She’s a strange cat, a really slender mix breed with a white/tabby coat. I remember having no choice but to take her because when we walked into the kitten enclosure, she ended up attaching herself to my leg and not getting down so obviously we left with her.
On Boxing Day, we got Roxy, a beautiful little dark chocolate (not quite black) kitten, who’s mother was a pure rag doll, and they had no idea who the father was, obviously a black cat considering rag dolls are mainly white cats. We thought Rocky was a girl, but when we took her to the vet to be de-sexed, turned out she was a he. So her name became Rocky instead. Not after Sylvester Stallones Rocky, no no no. He got named Rocky after the character Rocky Horror from the Rocky Horror Picture Show, because I was still obsessed with that musical at that stage.
Not this Rocky.
And he was truly a gorgeous cat. He was always mums cat because I ended up leaving home and all that, but was still close with the people he saw on a constant. Because he was half rag doll, he used to be floppy so he’d let you pick him up and hold him on his back, he’d also be walking, or you’d be trying to move him with your foot and he’d just flop over, just straight lay there and just flopped around when you tried to move him.
When he was a kitten he used to jump on the broom when mum was sweeping the floor, half the time he’d climb on it and stay there while mum still swept. He caught a lot of little animals where my parents live, they’re kind of in a nature preserve (I hated growing up there but most find it beautiful) so there are a lot of protected species up there, if killed by you or your pet then you can face some hefty fines. So that pissed off dad a lot because he is all about preserving nature and habitat and all that hippy shit.
I remember when I was with my ex and we were living with my parents at the time. We got up to a lot of shit, I mean a lot, crime and drugs was how we rolled. My ex used to hate Rocky because of his incredibly loud meow and the fact that it was mums cat and he didn’t like my mum. He used to say that he reckoned mum put cameras behind Rockys eyes to spy on us, because he did he’d follow us at a distance everywhere and just stop, sit and stare. It was almost like he was keeping an eye on me for mum, Rocky didn’t like my ex either.
And fuck me did that cat talk, he’d talk to everyone. Fun fact if you didn’t already know; a cats meow is a sound they made to talk to humans, not to each other. Cats communicate to each other through body movements, growls, hisses and small noises. The loud distinct meow that you hear from your cat is intended for you, the house cat has evolved to try and be able to communicate with humans. It didn’t help though that mum encouraged the behaviour to a silly degree, she only really spoke to Rocky through meows unless she was calling him or feeding him. So he just siren meowed on a constant, it was so loud and high pitched, again, used to piss of my dad because he meowed about as much, if not more frequently then a small dog.
He was a kitten when I was 12, now I’m 24. On the day my mother found out that her mother had died, was also the day she took Rocky to the vet for the final time. Yesterday, she had him put down. The vet had held him for 2 days, trying to figure out what was wrong with him, his stomach was full of fluid and he wasn’t eating or drinking. They thought it was a couple of different cat viruses at first but then ran more tests to discover it was a tumour in his liver. The procedure to remove it would’ve been risky, then the treatment afterward would be painful for Rocky, plus he’d already been through 2 days worth of being on a drip and through tests. I was on the phone to mum when she got the call saying her mum died, I was also on the phone when she got the call to say they couldn’t do anything to help Rocky. I heard her break on the phone when they told her that her cat needed to be put down, she was perfectly calm and accepting when they told her that her mum had died. I said to mum, ‘it’s kind of sad when you’re 100x more upset over the death of your cat compared to the death of your mum’. And all the replied with was, ‘that’s because he was the only cat I ever owned that showed me so much love’. And that pretty well says it all when it comes to Nanna, doesn’t it…
I wish I had a picture to share of Rocky and Rogue, but unfortunetly the photo is on my phone and my phones fucked at this point in time. Did I mention I’m having a shitty week? Yeah, woke up to the fucked just with a giant crack through the top half of the screen, so I can do some stuff with it but not others. Like, I can open up a browser or the play store because they’re apps that are down the bottom of my screen, but I can’t search for anything in either because the search bar is at the top of the screen so I can’t press it. I can get in to my text messages, but I can’t read any new ones or reply because they go to the top of the screen and can’t press them. I can answer call, I can make calls if I know the number, or we’ve recently been in contact and the numbers are in the log. I can’t get into my address book though. It’s like the biggest fuck you crack in the screen I’ve ever had on a phone, like here you go, he’s a really important message from your brother about the funeral, but fuck you, you can’t read it or reply to it. I’m getting a new phone shipped out to me though, back to iPhone over android, fuck it, I’m over pretending to be a pretentious hipster that cares about technology like that. It only cost me having to start over with my contract when I had fuck all time left till it was over, oh and also another $210 to cover the rest of the cost of the fucked up phone. Lame.
I’ve been asked by my brother to be pall bearer at the funeral along with my other brothers and some other people people that I don’t know but were apparently close to nanna. I was a bit surprised but I agreed to do it. Fuck it, why not, I get to literally send the bitch to her grave.
Even though I haven’t seen or heard mum cry about nanna, I’m still worried, more so now because of Rocky, the cracks are really starting to show with her quickly. But she summed it up perfectly in one sentence yesterday on the phone.
You don’t realise how much you’re still hurting when you find out that the person that hurt you so much has died. Then you realise you haven’t really gotten over any of it at all.
Because once you realise they’re gone, you also realise that your closure has also died, and now you’ll have to deal with things without the apology you deserved, without any words of remorse. And you can’t help but feel sad over their death because death is sad. And then you get sad and you reflect, on their life, on your life, on the impact that you both made on each other. Then the memories come flooding out, raining down on you as quickly and as heavily as an avalanche. I know because I went through that when I heard about her death, I did it again with Rocky except there were no bad memories about Rocky. I can’t begin to imagine the memories that must be coming back again, that my mother has struggled to bury and forget for the last 25 years. She must hurt so much, so must D, and J, J and K, all of us sharing a combined pain.
I spent yesterday a mess, a crying wreck, nearly broke down in the middle of the shopping centre. Today I am now flat, tired, numb. I have so much to do to move out and absolutely no motivation to do it. Waking up at 6 every morning in a row for the past 5 days and puking hasn’t been great either. Waking up in the middle of the night yelling because of panic and anxiety.
I should be excited about my own life, about moving, about changing. But at the moment, I am barely present in my own mind let alone my life….