Sugar the Kitty Cat

A little over six years ago--which feels like a lifetime ago, though it clearly isn't--I adopted my cat, Sugar. J Co was living with me at the time, and one of the provisions of her moving in was that I wanted to get a cat. My roommate prior to J Co had one--in fact, that was the primary reason I'd chosen her as a roommate. And I had not had a cat since childhood, when my mom and stepdad divorced and we moved and had to give away our two cats and dog. So after having been pet-less for over ten years, I went with J Co to the SPCA one Saturday morning, and took a gander at the kitties they had available. The place itself is like the Hilton for pets. We went into one cat's suite, and it immediately hid away from us. Then we looked at a feral one, and although it was sweet, Mr. Alterhausen had sufficiently instilled in me the danger of owning a feral cat, so I shied away from the idea. When we got to the door of Sugar's room, the little bio on the front started off saying, "Sugar wants you to know she has a little spice." What we would later come to find is that this was code for the fact that she was a mildly sheisty animal (though a shiesty animal who would own my heart in due time). There was also a rope tied around the door knob of her room and linked to one of the floor fixtures. The volunteer assisting us with the other pets had to ask a staff member to join us in our meeting with Sugar because she was a "level four". (I would later go on to create a MySpace page for Sugar, and this was the password.) At level five, they euthanize. You get the picture. But in any event, we walked in and were met with an adorable little tabby with bright green eyes, one of which was a bit wonky. She was immediately sociable. The SPCA staff member revealed that the reason for the cord on the door was that she'd gotten out a few times. Clever kitty. At one point, she latched her teeth to my finger, and I just left it there before she released. The staff member said I had responded favorably. She went on to say, "This isn't the kind of cat you can hold on your bed and pet..." but J Co and I were already sold. We wrapped her up, and took her home. That night, on my bed, we watched the Emmy's together. I was gently petting her when she suddenly whipped around, bear-clawed my hand, and drew blood. For awhile, J Co and I were kind of afraid to pet her before eventually realizing that she could and would be sweet, but only on her own terms. It wouldn't be long before I realized that instead of being our cat, Sugar slowly transitioned into being my cat in that I was the only one taking care of her, emptying her litter box, and buying her food. I eventually moved her food- and water bowls into my room, and J Co eventually moved out. That was just one of a handful of changes that transpired for the next six and a half years. But Sugar was the sole constant. I would get home, and she would be there meowing at me, demanding attention, and then just gazing at me from atop her cat tower. When I would lay in bed, she would join me, often licking me like a dog. I considered her my familiar, and believed she would live a long, long time. After all, I had been feeding her the damn expensive Science Diet food. But Sunday night, I awoke from a nap, got a drink from the kitchen, came back into my room, and saw her laying there motionless. I flew into a panic, checked her eyes and heartbeat. I called the emergency vet line, and was told they were way out on Irving Street. I rushed to get ready, and tried to find something to put her in, but I realized after my initial panic abated just a little that she was already gone. She was only eight years old. I put her little body in a box, texted my boss that I would be working from home the next day, and started to look for burial/cremation places online through tears. When I tried to sleep that night, I kept waking up, and a new wave of grief would wash over me as I would realize she was gone. I kept thinking I was hearing her meowing and thought she may have just been in some sort of coma. I dreamt that she popped out of the box, but that her throat area was missing, but that she was otherwise fine. Maybe that was what was wrong with her. I'm still trying to figure out what it was. I'm still pissed at myself that I didn't take her in for a check up just because I was trying to save up to pay off a credit card. When I called the cremation place the next morning, I couldn't even get out my name without getting all chocked up. I got a fresh towel and wrapped her in it. Her bright green eyes were beginning to fade and roll back into her head. In one of the saddest moments of my life, I taped up the little box she was in in preparation to give her over to the place. I resisted the urge about twenty times to open up the box again just to see her one more time. I knew I would just see a decaying shell of my once fluffy little angel. The man came, and I handed her over. The house has been agonizingly empty ever since. Her cat tower sits near my window. Her food bowl still has a few bits of food, and her water bowl is half full. I put the hair rollers out of place since I won't need to wipe off cat hair from my bed anymore. I was in a daze yesterday, and just took a long walk around the city, and had a few crying fits at home. I got into work this morning, and dared to listen to music on the way there, even though I knew that just one sad song would set me off. It was the very first one that came on: "Remember" by Groove Armada. I just wanted to concentrate on work when I got there, which helped distract me. But when people would come up and console me, a fresh set of tears sprung up. My room, my beloved sanctuary, now houses her memory, and it hurts to be here. Everytime I instinctively move to do something that I would have normally done for her--like refill her water bowl when I get home, leave the closet door ajar so she can get to her litter box, or turn the radio on before I leave so she doesn't feel alone--it all comes slamming back at me. Death sucks. I just want the sadness to go away without having to wait for it to naturally abate. I had just been thinking over the weekend how everything in my life has been going so swimmingly for the past few years (fuck, I just got a nice increase a work), and that something crappy has to hit at some point or another. Humans resisted the first version of the Matrix because it was idyllic, and our instinct informs us that life is not ideal. So although some people wait awhile for the grief to settle, I have Friday off, and am taking the opportunity to adopt a new cat. In my mind, there is a big welcome sign for the new kitty who I will take into my life, as I did Sugar, and whom I will give all my love in the same way he or she will. No one can ever replace my precious angel, true, but the love goes on, and so does life. I hope I see her again on the other side.