The Ravens Nest

The Full-Circle Realization.

Fact is, I get it, some think “it’s just a cat, get over it.”

My response is a resounding “Get Fucked & Stay Fucked.” Don’t make me put the exclamation on it. If you’re looking for apologies, buy a lottery ticket because you stand a better chance of winning than you ever will getting an apology out of me. In short, if that’s your attitude and you feel compelled to bail, so be it but that door will lock behind you and you’ll never be permitted entry. It might as well be a wall.

The real fact behind the matter is that when I’d come home from a rough day, this is what I had to look forward to.

That’s what he’d do, just hang around me. He’d jump up in my chair or want me to pick him up and hold him awhile. This usually lasted about fifteen minutes and then he’d decide to fuck off and go do something else. Sometimes, he’d bring the mouse or fish toy (both filled with catnip) and drop it next to my computer chair. I’d hold it out to him, make him nuzzle it by just asking him if he loved that toy (never failed, he always did), then I’d fling it across the room and he’d skitter and do the Scooby Doo equivalent of trying to skedaddle to get it. I’m not kidding you, he’d bring it back every time. After awhile he’d get tired of that and just want some attention. I gave it whenever possible. This happened every day. He hated being randomly snuggled and the only time he ever wanted snuggles is if you were sitting upright.

The day he arrived, I carried him into this very space in which I dwell. He walked around, explored things and then jumped up into my lap as I sat down. When I stood up still holding him, he rested his head on my shoulder and did this little cat sigh.

When I brought him in, he was merely two years old, a younger man at the time but he never stopped showing me affection. Even the morning I went to the dispensary, he was acting as though everything was normal, following me into the bathroom, begging for food, standing on the bathtub, tapping me with his paw.

Bub was the cat that was every bit my best friend and constant companion. He’d piss me off, I’d get angry and he’d skitter off until I’d calmed down. This didn’t happen often. Matter of fact, I managed to solve most of those problems with a squirt bottle and moving my computer chair away from the desk but out of the way. Bub would sleep in my computer chair while I slept. It was one of his favorite spots. The love seat was another one of his favorite spots and this is how that turned out.

He loved that quilt. So much so that he ended up losing interest in the computer chair. Some nights, I’d stretch out on the couch watching something and fall asleep. Bub was always right there when I woke up and when I’d awaken, he’d get up, get underfoot and I’m trying to stumble in my sleep-addled fog and say “Bub…look…dammit, boy move out of the way!”

And sometimes, he’d accidentally get stepped on for getting underfoot the way he did.

He was always so quick to forgive and shit, look at that face, wouldn’t you?

I placed that quilt along with three plush toys that were among some of the ones he loved along with a statue of Freya on his coffin during the entire week of his vigil/funeral.

When we took him for his cremation, I’d placed the two toys he played with the most into the coffin with him. I thought he should keep them. Two larger plush toys sit on his quilt right there where he slept.

Here’s the thing, he didn’t just sleep there. Sometimes I would wake up after a night on the couch and there he was, on the back or arm of the couch. Before I’d leave for work, he’d get a little scratch between the ears and I’d tell him, “See you when I get home, Bubberz.” He never really liked it when I left. When I got home though, he was off the back of the couch, hopping up from being right there at the door when I would bump him (I always apologized to him for that) or he’d be off my chair to come greet me at the door.

The oddest thing about Bub is that he’d often position himself where he could see the TV. He would sit and actively watch anything Star Trek (I have every season of every series, all the movies and this took some time to procure) or even the 1960s Batman series. He didn’t watch much else but the one thing he did love, Disc Trays.

No that’s not a joke, if the disc tray to the movie player opened, he immediately ran to the thing and stared at it. If I put a disc into my Playstation 4, he stared in wild-eyed amazement at it, especially when the discs went in. I’m still not sure where his fascination came from but there it was. I used to watch stuff on DVD just to see him do it.

There are times he just wanted to be carried around. Bub had a lot of weird habits and personality quirks. He’s even managed to use parts of my shelf/altar as a scratching post, scratching up some of my boxes that held my tarot cards. He’s scratched up a lot of stuff and I’m not fixing it. I’m leaving it as is. Sure, it may look a bit unsightly in areas but they’re reminders that he was here, he was happy and if you need proof…

I don’t care that he clawed up the new couch in spots. I don’t care that he messed up boxes to my tarot cards or used my shelf as a scratching post for whatever reason. It used to irk me, I won’t lie, on that day twelve years ago, I would still carry him in.

When I carried him out with his two favorite toys, I told him, “I carried you in, Bubba. I’ll carry you out.”

At the place that will perform the cremation, I was asked if I could pick him up on Wednesday. I fucked up and looked at the wrong schedule and told them I’d be there. I had to make some calls this morning and I have a friend picking Bub up for me but I won’t be the one to carry him home.

I carried him to vet appointments and back. I carried him into the hospital that night just over a week ago. I carried him to the car and back here. I carried him to the place that will perform the cremation. He will come home tomorrow but it won’t be the same.

If I said I was doing okay, I’d be lying to you. It hasn’t gotten easier. Those moment of grief still hit hard. If you haven’t seen me around or I seem angry when you do, bear with me, it has to come out somewhere and better some politician than someone who might be an acquaintance at worst or a friend at best.

He’s been here, my solid rock for 12 years. That doesn’t just go away. It doesn’t matter whether it’s a dog, a domesticated rat or even a goldfish, losing a companion that loves you as much as you love that companion, it’s gut-wrenching.

Those of you that turned out, thanks for bearing with me, it means a lot to me. It’s not something I’ll soon forget but this will take time. Trying to navigate a rough day without him is something I’m still trying to figure out. I threw out the bags of food and the medication today, a promise I made to him. No more of that. No more pain, specialized food, medication, no more needles, no more rides to the vet. I promised him the last time I gave him that medication that “You’re all finished with that, Buddy. No more.” and I give him some treats to comfort him after that.

He pushed through cancer as much as he could.

I love Bub and I always will. Again, no apologies. If anyone felt the need to bail, we weren’t friends; Bub and I were. He was my best friend and those that left…the trash took itself out as far as I’m concerned. Bub was better than all of us put together. Even when he fucked up my hands by playing rough, when he fucked up furniture, broke things or acted like an ass at times, he had a heart of purest platinum.

I would still carry him if I had one last chance to.

Even if it meant every human in my life were to bail upon it happening, it would still be worthwhile to me. We all talk about those that are “ride or die” but Bub never explored those options. He chose ride all the way, right from jump street. He never once questioned it. We could all learn a thing or two from that.