Contemplating....

As said, my cat is seriously not doing well. 

Some of you might think; Hey, what's the big deal? It's just a cat. Well, she's not just a cat. She is MY cat. 

Why is she so important to me? Well, except for the obvious bit of her being a cat and thus able to cute-stare me into a puddle of love and admiration in a nanosecond. I think there are more factors involved. 

I always loved cats. Got my first one (that was sanctioned by my parents and I got to keep) for my 10th birthday. I spent the first night next to her bed, just looking at her. I named her Kitty (yes, I had just started to lean english and thought I was sooo original). The name quickly turned into Kati, pest, bag of fleas, depending on how she was behaving. She had a lot of character, and we were all her subordinates. Me being a kid, and as such, not very dependable as far as cleaning the toilet and feeding her on the hour was concerned, and dad being the chief for meat in the kitchen, she soon started to consider him her favorite subordinate.

On the afternoon after the last exam to finish high-school I learned that my mom had breast cancer. It was quite a shock to me, as you can imagine. She had surgery, chemo, and it all seemed ok for a while. In the fall I went to university, where I did not do as well as everyone expected, due to a severe lack of self-control to sit and work without any pressure, and to the reappearance of my mum's cancer. It was worse and worse, more and more operations, chemo and all the psychological stress on all the family that a disease like that brings with it. 

My family is the strong silent type, we do not talk about hurt, we just stand there like the Gibraltar rocks, as my sister-in-law said. We just accumulate. And then, someday, it's too much. My mum died. I was unable to work through it, and a few months lated, my dad met someone new. I wasn't happy, but who am I to keep him from being happy after years of suffering? So my childhood home change, got distorted, furniture changed, the way of doing things too. It just didn't feel like m home anymore. She is nice, don't get me wrong. But she wasn't my mum, and she was, and still is sometimes, trying too hard.

What nailed me was that my cat died of cancer a bit less than a year after my mom did. And in the exact same way too. in a recent conversation with my dad he reminded me, that the cat was actually operated on for cancer on her tit, but it returned a few months later. I honestly had no recollection of that. The year after my mum died is mostly just a big blank hole in my mind. The cat died because cancer had spread so far, that her lungs filled with water and she basically drowned. I was just putting her in a box to take her to the vet and have her euthanized, since she was in lots of pain the night before, and she died in my arms. We'd have done it earlier, but she had a tiny little kitten, only a few weeks old. It got successfully adopted by the neighbors cat and found a good home afterwards, where he is loved and spoiled beyond all measure, to my information.

After that, I broke down and hit a nice little depression. I did nothing but lay in my bed, flipping channels without seeing he show, eating bread by just tearing it off the loaf, ice-cream and drinking milk out of the package.  I barely dragged myself to the store once I run out of everything that didn't need any preparations. After a month or two of that (my sense of time got totally lost) I finally had enough of myself and went to see a shrink. Took me a long time and many group therapies, but I got much better. 

After a while, I found a job, was getting forward with my studies, and felt I was well enough, and stable enough to take care of another living creature. I decided to adopt a cat at a local shelter. 

I spent half an hour looking at the outside part of the cat pens, and couldn't really decide for one. And then a dark grey, matted and neglected cat with an extra layer of fur came out to sit in the sun. she seemed to me the most beautiful cat I have ever seen. When I went into the pen to get her, she, out of some 20 cats, came running to me, climbed on my knee and started rubbing her face against mine. I guess she really wanted to come home with me. And that was it. I signed the paperwork, they programmed her chip with my name and number, and home we went. After a few days, we got rid of all the excess hair, the strong stink, that only cheap shelter food can give, and the bond was firm. I love her. She is my cat, and my responsibility.

Currently we live in a nice big apartment with a few roommates; 3 humans, another cat named Jack, with a colorful history of his own, and a dog. No fleas, mind you. Maybe some spiders, hiding in corners, though.

We are supposed to move to Sweden by the end of next year. I really really hope we both do. Doesn't seem good. But I hope. Because that's what she is to me. A cat, a pet, a responsibility, a beautiful, not too bright lovable gorgeous grey being with wonderful bright yellow eyes that melt my heart (or anyone else's, for that matter). 

She was the promise of a brighter future, once upon a time. I wish I could give her more future to look forward to.