Prettiest Girl I've Ever Seen....

 

"Still lookin' for that Blue Jean, Baby Queen, Prettiest Girl I've ever seen..." Today is Freya's birthday. She would have been thirteen years old. Sometimes I would sing this line to her, and I sang it again before she died in my arms. She was the prettiest thing I'd ever seen. She was my Perfect Girl, and I told her often. 

This is her last photo. I took it the day before she died, placing her on my winter coat because it was warm and poufy soft. I still see perfect beauty and grace. I see something else now too. I see the pain she was hiding. I see it in the narrowed eyes and the slightly flattened ears. 

Today the boys got tuna to honor their departed sister. I found an advent calendar with cat treats, so they'll be getting those too until Christmas. I couldn't bring myself to buy toys. Weeks ago I found one of her hard cat nip balls and it made me cry. 

It was about four a.m. on October 30th when I heard her stumbling around under the kitchen table. Dan and I were awake anyway. We frequently wake up at that time of day because we have fifty-something-year-old-bladders. She was struggling to walk. Did she fall? Did she need her insulin? 

"Try and get her to eat," I told Dan, "I'm going to take a shower. If she hasn't shaken it off when I get out, we should take her to Emergency." 

There is a relatively new place on the west end of Edmonton named Vet ER, and we decided to bring her in around 4:30 am. Long story short--They had no idea what was wrong with her. Probably, maybe neurological. Take her to her regular vet in two or three days if she doesn't improve.

She got worse.

I vented on Facebook, and got much needed (desired) sympathy. Thank you Cris, who offered a possible diagnosis but warned me that maybe I didn't want to Google it. It might upset me. ( Still haven't, but thank you. I was too scared.) 

The comment that hit me the hardest was from Nikki. She was my best friend in high school. The way she commented... "Oh, luv. Hold her close!" A cloud descended upon me. I knew that woman for many years. I read between the lines and took her advice.

That night I slept with Freya on my chest, praying, watching. The vet said two or three days. I watched her face all night, hoping that Nikki was wrong. She wasn't. 

I called Freya's vet the first thing in the morning and got her the earliest appointment. I dropped her and Dan off at the vet and went to work. 

But Dan phoned soon after. There was nothing anyone could do. We had to put her down. I dumped everything and made it there in 15 minutes. I cradled her in my arms, like she preferred. We told her we loved her. I sang the words. 

We are grateful to Mayfield Veterinarian Clinic for their empathy. Dr. Alexandria Ryan was truly sweet and kind as was all the staff, especially Chelsea. Thank you, all of you. Thanks for crying with us and letting me hold her for just a few minutes longer. I never ever wanted to let her go. What I wouldn't give right now to hold her like that one more time. 

Mornings are coldly quiet and efficient now. I can go to work early--anywhere from 20 to forty minutes earlier. I feed the boys. I no longer have to watch and see if Freya will eat and hide. Or even if she'll eat at all. She was a smart cat that figured out that breakfast and dinner meant needles. She would resist eating, but diabetes made her hungrier so it was a waiting game.

Giving her insulin was hard for everyone. One of us humans would catch and hold her, kiss her and talk to her. The other human would calmly, and carefully pull up her skin and inject her. Nothing in this house required as much Zen, and neither of us is very Zen. Whatever was going on otherwise needed to be put aside for Freya's shot.  We loved her more. 

Afterwards she would come into the bathroom and ask for butt scritches and cuddling. I always gave them to her. I never denied her because I knew that day would come and I never wanted to regret NOT cuddling her. She would often press her head into my armpit. Sometimes I swear she would wind up for it like a punch monkey, and I would try not to laugh because it always felt like she was making an extra effort to cram her face in as far as she could. I already miss that so much. 

I know we did the right thing. I just wish there was more time. I wish we could have done more. I wasn't ready, but we couldn't allow her to suffer.

Sometimes I hurt so badly. I want to scream and rage. For the most part, there's just sadness. When we lost Sully, I screamed for the guilt. When we lost Spartacus, I screamed because we tried everything and we lost him anyway. My screams for Freya sit under my heart like a solid lump, because I'm ashamed of the relief I feel--for the part of me that's glad it's over. 

Someday I will accept that we did right by Freya. We gave her a good life, and loved her ferociously. We did what was best for her always to our heartfelt abilities. 

She was more than just a sick cat. I need everyone to know that. I feel like there's so much more I need to say but I just can't spit it out. There will be future blogs about her because she literally changed my whole life. I became calmer and more empathetic because of her. I miss the sound of her voice, her purr. I miss her perfect and expressive face. I miss sniffing her fur. Everything about her was amazing to me. 

Now she's gone and the house feels empty. I'm so grateful for Grendel and Amir. I can't imagine what it would be like if they weren't here at a time like this. They offer such comfort. 

I bought her a new ornament for the tree. It's just a white fuzzy ball, but I instantly thought of her. After I finish this blog, I'm going to decorate the rest of the tree, drinking coffee and Baileys. 

Today I went Christmas shopping which cheered me immensely, but now that I'm home again, the sadness has returned. There's an ornament in the box with her picture on it. I bought it to celebrate her first Christmas with us. I spoiled her rotten that year and every year after that. 

Don't worry...we'll be okay. The boys are with us. I gave them both Squeezables and they are sleeping with happy tummies. 

Christmas will be quiet this year, and I've decided it's okay to be a little sad. I'm not going to force fake joy. Everyone dies, it was just time for my Mom and my Freya and neither are sick anymore. That is something to be grateful for. My next two blogs will be good Christmas memories about my parents, and I hope you enjoy them. 

I'm going to go decorate my tree now and let my tears flow. It is what it is, and I accept it. Goodbye to my perfect Freya. We will always love you.