RIP Trixie

5-27-14

Her face surrounds me this morning.

I considered taking down pictures this morning simply because I was fearful that I would once again be transformed into a blubbering mess. It was quickly realized that this wouldn’t help much, and would only solidify the real possibility that I am going to wish I had worn waterproof eyeliner.

Thursday night, my darling Trixie was acting squishy. She was almost desperate for attention, which I gladly gave her. She was a little ball of purr and it was incredibly endearing. When we crawled into bed that night, she settled into her spot up between our pillows, happy as can be because it meant she could be scritched by both of us.

The next morning I crawled out of bed. I noted a wet spot near my knees and was instantly annoyed that one of the cats was feeling irritated enough with us to piss on me in the middle of the night. I headed to the shower. When I came out of the bathroom, Trixie was not outside the door, which was a little surprising, but I chalked it up to her being quite comfy in bed.

Then I got the text.

Something was wrong. Ken said that Trixie’s back legs were not working correct. When I inquired as to what he meant by this, I got an incredibly long text stating that she was wobbly and lethargic. She had peed on the bed and it seemed to take place because she could not get down. It all seemed very bad.

The texts that would come over the course of the day painted a grim picture. The doctor at first had assumed she had been crushed. She said that all of the symptoms indicated that she had been smushed and therefore was likely to have spinal damage and/or broken ribs. X-Rays ruled out broken bones, but her health was still declining.

When she was not responding to the oxygen therapy I left work and raced to Manhattan Beach. Ken’s text came through telling me to hurry. I was terrified.

She was on the table, face in an oxygen mask, not moving. She was clearly having difficulty breathing, but she seemed stable. I started talking to her, unsure if she knew I was there. I didn’t know what she was feeling or thinking, which of course broke my heart into a million pieces.

Ken left since one of us would need to be there when his folks got to the house and the boys would need to be picked up. I settled into his chair and petted my kitty, hoping that something would work.

Sadly, she only got worse. She started to growl and tense up in what looked like immense pain. The doctor was baffled. She was on a lot of pain meds already, and more could kill her. Trixie started to spaz out a bit and it all looked like the battle was raging in her tiny body. It was horrific.

It was at this time that the doctor told me it was time. She said that there was nothing else they could do for her except to end her suffering, which was not words I had expected to hear about Trixie for another 15 years. My sweet girl isn’t even 1 yet. She is only 4 pounds of sweetness and I was anxious to see what the years would bring. Sadly, it would end in only a few minutes.

I held her tiny, limp body for a long time after. I rocked back and forth with her, sobbing freely. I noted multiple people who worked there were also teary.

It was hard to leave her. I couldn’t breathe.

I called Ken in the car before I left. I had not gotten his texts that wanted me to just bring her home to die there. The guilt began. I had fucked up. The back room at MBAH had next to zero cell service and I had misunderstood the trust put in me when Ken left.

I got home and proceeded to go through the rest of the day in a haze. I know we got the boys a little early from class, which was almost as hard as watching her die. I hated to have to deliver such heart breaking news to these children, who also adored our little grey fluff ball.

Ken’s parents showed up and I went through the motions. We went to dinner and I had to excuse myself a couple of times to go mop up my face. I tried to drink, hoping that it would perhaps numb the hole in my heart, but even that wasn’t working.

Sleep was impossible. I spent Saturday in a daze. We did go and I was able to make a Toothless Build a Bear, but it wasn’t going to replace Trixie by any stretch of the imagination.

I functioned on autopilot. I didn’t want to upset the boys any further. I also knew that if I didn’t keep moving, I would be back to the fetal position.

We spent Sunday morning with Ken’s folks. I made a nice brunch and enjoyed showing off Steve. I think his folks were impressed with the place. It was a good way to get out of my head for a bit.

We turned in that night and something triggered the tears. This resulted in Ken and I really talking about it all. I explained how I had truly been blaming myself for her death. Everything from assuming I was the one who had crushed her to the missed texts left me assuming I had been the one who killed her. Ken reassured me that he didn’t think these things and told me I had made the right decision. Even with some of this weight off my shoulders, it seemed to open up a different flood gate.

I love this cat so very much. I know it may sound crazy to be this distraught over a cat, especially one in reality one that I have only known for about 6 months. That being said, sometimes there are remarkable animals that touch our souls more than we realize they ever could. Trixie was that cat, and for her to leave us so soon just made it that much more difficult.

I made it through yesterday without any real tears shed. I don’t know if I am finally moving on or if I simply have nothing left in me for now.

In so many ways, I feel like I failed her.