He was my “little boy” and “little man”.
His name was Zoogie — I got it from a TV car ad of the time that had a line: “Zoom, zoom, zoom.”
From that came Zoog and then Zoogie.
He was the more gorgeous cat I’ve ever seen — my former wife and I adopted him and his sister as kittens way back in June 2000 — such a long time ago.
I still have his sister and she is part of this depressing and for me — horrific story.
She was diagnosed with kidney disease a year or so ago and ever since I was desperate to do all I could to keep her alive and as well as possible.
He on the other hand breezed through all his medical tests as recently as last June.
I developed tunnel vision as it turned out.
She suffered bad infections a couple of times and when I went to the litter box and surrounds there was blood and blood stained poop. I was crazy with worry and that just made me even more intent on her condition.
Every day I’d go downstairs to check and every day without that blood was a victory.
What I failed in my stupidity to register a couple of months ago (maybe more) was the appearance of diarrhea in his stool.
I just thought it was nothing — he seemed so fit and healthy and robust that it wasn’t an issue.
And of course she was occupying all my attention.
Well, a couple of weeks ago he lost a lot of weight suddenly — even an idiot such as myself couldn’t fail to pick up on that so I took him to my wonderful vet immediately— long story to short — pancreatitis.
I held the head of my dear, dear beautiful boy and still-purring boy yesterday as she put him to sleep — he’d suffered a stroke or seizure in the afternoon and she said she was worried he wouldn’t survive the night.
At least I was with him.
But I am racked with crushing guilt — I wonder and fear that I could have saved him had I not been so damned stupid.
The torture of that fear has compounded the crushing loss of my “little man” — since my divorce my only family was him (my dear son) and my daughter.
They meant everything to me and I mean everything.
The house is an awful place — full of horrors.
A friend has suggested that the pancreatitis was just a symptom of something else and possibly cancer and that at 17 his chances of surviving that would be virtually nothing.
My vet yesterday, amongst my flood of tears, said that had I picked up on the diarrhea early the chances were clearly better.
Today she says she had found a lump in his tummy (stomach) that shouldn’t have been there and that if it was cancer it was likely to be inoperable.
People on here know lots about this kind of thing — as I said I am an idiot in these matters — so I would be grateful for any input or thoughts.
Another thing is this — I am also wracked by guilt for not playing with him enough — for not eschewing the TV or reading DailyKos, or checking out the latest Trump/GOP outrage or whatever — when I could have followed his lead and beckoning, big, shiny eyes, and followed him to the bed for an afternoon cuddle and siesta.
I was promised he would one day — every day — when my work disappeared and I had all the time needed.
Of course that will never happen now — the sense of loss of just that is enormous, a killer.
So many opportunities to show my love for him forsaken — hundreds, thousands — to my eternal consternation and shame.
I will never, ever forgive myself for what I didn’t do both medically and in giving him the attention and love he so richly deserved.
I also have to confess I lost my patience with him at times and gave him a smack. It often came when he tried to “steal” the girl’s food — trying to care for her has been a nightmare — often I’d put down three different meals for her in the hope she’d take a few bites on one — and he’d eat his dinner and target hers.
But he was just doing what cats do — more vileness and stupidity from me.
I was so sick with worry about her that I reacted badly — another enormous regret and sadness and shame.
Of course I took to doing other things to let her eat in peace but it was not always successful — she would come back and forth to her food. If I wasn’t careful there’d be none left. But he was always well fed — I’d keep feeding him if he’d keep eating — no guilt about that thankfully.
But after I smacked him five minutes later I’d walk into the bedroom and talk to him in a warm, soft voice and seconds later I’d be nuzzling his neck, taking in his beautiful smell and he’d be purring. He was full of forgiveness and a far, far better “person” than me.
He was a gift from God and I pray desperately that he’ll forgive me and that he’s already in the arms of my wonderful, wonderful Dad in Heaven.
My former wife believes in what she calls “PH” — Pussy Heaven — where we and the animals and creatures we’ve all loved (all of us) are all reunited in bliss and eternity in Heaven.
I have been praying she’s been right for years and will do so to the end of my life.
It’s my dearest wish — with daylight second.
I also pray to somehow forgive myself but that won’t happen and I don’t deserve it.
Now, finally, to why I have posted this here.
As you can see I am a relatively recent addition to DK and most of my comments revolve around animals and thanking those marvellous posters on the animal thread for posting all those gorgeous pictures and expressing those wonderful, caring sentiments.
Whenever there’s been a post about someone’s tragic loss I have offered my prayers and sadness for posters who’ve suffered the loss of their dear animal friends.
Those losses have truly saddened me and I wanted to add my words of consolation and hope.
Well, I need bucket loads of hope and consolation and warmth and sympathy right now and considering how many great, caring and animal-loving people with big hearts post on here, I know I am coming the right place.
I need your help.