I will never forget you, my sweet Lucy

Since I became an independent adult, I wanted to have a cat... badly! Since my college days in Medicine Hat, really. I've always been a pet person, and cats in particular seemed perfect for me. Not that I don't like dogs. I really do. But me and cats just seemed to make much more sense.

When I got my first apartment in Calgary, it was the first time I lived on my own. Even my college days saw me having roommates, either in the townhouse dorms at Medicine Hat College, or with my good friend Sharon in the third year. I was disheartened to hear that I could not have a cat in the apartment complex, but did want my independence and did want to experience what it was like to be a grown up. Pay my own bills, rent, get groceries, and all that wonderful stuff.

I was working at the first place I ever worked at following my education, which was at the Calgary Sun. I remember when I was a teenager, it was almost a dream of mine to be making ads for this paper. Suddenly I was doing it. The dream eventually turned into something else entirely, as the boss was a total dick, and the pay wasn't that great. Eventually after realizing I didn't have anywhere to grow in the company because the boss didn't think I was the "in charge type", I started to look for another job. I found one that made me relocate from Calgary to Wetaskiwin, as I couldn't find a place to rent at all in Camrose. I also noticed that for far less money than my expensive one bedroom tiny apartment in Calgary cost, I could rent a 2 bedroom townhouse. The job eventually fell through, and I was laid off after a month of working there. Eventually I found work, at first working part-time at Wetaskiwin Times-Advertiser, and then full time at the Leduc Representative.

Sometime during this time, I encouraged my brother to move out of our parents' house and in with me, mostly because I wanted him to learn how to be independent, as I did. We were living together for awhile and it was great. But... that desire to have a cat started growing more and more. Again I was living in a place that didn't allow cats. I tried to plead with those landlords to allow myself to get one, but to no avail. So... I decided, "Fuck it! I'll move so I can get a kitty!" I quickly found a new townhouse to rent that allowed cats and gave my month's notice to move out of that other place.

On my birthday in 2003 I went to the local animal shelter in Wetaskiwin to pick out a kitten. I was almost set on choosing a young, orange kitten, when my brother noticed this cute little grey tabby who was in a cage all by herself. She was playing with a blanket that was in the cage with her, and beating the crap out of it. Attacking it out of nowhere, grabbing onto it with her monstrous kitty grip, tearing into it with her hind legs. It was love at first sight. I chose her with the help of my brother, made arrangements for her to get spayed, and started the process of packing and moving. Here is the picture of her when I first chose her in the shelter:

What a little cutie-pie, huh? It should be noted this picture was taken on an old camera flip phone, so the quality isn't that great, but you get the idea. Being a major Bealtes fan, I decided to name her Sgt. Lucy Pepper.

Just before I brought my cat home, my brother and I watched The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King in the movie theatre. One of the many nicknames my cat wound up receiving after that was Smeagol, as she became "my precious!" I had so many nicknames for Lucy over the years I often wondered if she knew what her name was. Lucy, Lucy-Goosey, Lucy-Goosey-Goo, Bookie (as in "Han, my bookie..."), Nibblet (inside joke from my brother and I), and many many others.

I decided to bring her home to the old place for Christmas anyways, as we were technically moving in January. I immediately showed her where her kitty litter was, showed her the scratching post I got her and how to scratch on it, where her food would be, and so on. After I went to bed that evening, Lucy was still sort of exploring the place, but wound up coming into my bedroom, using her claws to climb up on to my bed (as she was really tiny back then), came up to my face, purred and cuddled for awhile, then insisted on going under the covers with me, as I guess she was cold.

Throughout the remainder of the years, she has been my rock. She has helped me get through some dark times. She was with me when I met my ex-husband, and hated him from the first time she met him. I had never seen her hate someone like that before, nor since then I should add. Honestly, she was a great judge of character and I probably should have listened to her dislike of him. Throughout it all, I had my Lucy to help me through what I now refer to as my temporarily insane time period, that being my whole relationship to Dennis. She got me through that.

Wherever I wound up going, she was there. A very talkative cat. She answered me when I would ask her how she is doing, either with a meow, or a coo. She cooed a lot, actually. When I'd get home from work, and we'd be excited to see each other, I would say "Hi Lucy (or any of my many nicknames for her)! How are you?" and she'd say "Meeaooww!", and I'd say "Really?" and she'd say "Merr...", almost like she was saying "yeah...".

Whenever the depression beast would show its ugly face, Lucy would inevitably be there to pull me out of it. Depression likes to deceive you, much like the Emperor in Star Wars. I've blogged about that before, on this post. It lies to you and makes you think very negative, self-deprecating thoughts, like "I hate my life", "I wish I could just die", "No one would care if I lived or died", "I suck", "I'm a big, fat loser!", etc., etc., etc., Inevitably, when I would find myself in this thought pattern, I would snap myself out of any thoughts of ending it all by telling myself "No, Lucy needs me. I can't leave her alone. No one would understand her like I do. No one would be able to communicate with her like I do." It would help ease the pain, because at least I have my Lucy.

My cat starting to get really sick on Sunday afternoon. I thought initially she might have eaten something bad outside, a weed or something, as I had let her outside for awhile while I was taking out the garbage, sorting recycling and so on. She kept getting worse. I started to think maybe she was backed up, as she had had those issues before, so I bought her some pumpkin to eat. She did eat some, even licking it straight out of the bowl, which I had never seen her do before. Normally, I would have to feed it to her by putting some on my finger and letting her lick it off. But she got worse and worse. Tuesday after work I finally decided to take her to an animal hospital because she couldn't even move off the kitchen floor. That Tuesday my life changed forever. The vet informed me that Lucy would very likely die, and that she was exhibiting signs of kidney failure. I tried a last ditch attempt to try to save her, by informing the vet to go ahead with an IV and fluids and the like... I just couldn't accept this. I didn't think it was that serious. I was clearly in the denial stage of grief. Sadly, her heart rate kept deteriorating, and she was spasming a lot, which I was informed meant that it was affecting her brain. I made the most difficult choice I had to make, and let her go.

Tuesday night and all of Wednesday I was a complete mess. The pain was too much for me to bear. I could feel my heart chakra had shattered into a million little pieces and each shard was trying to stab its way out of my chest. I was crying non-stop. She meant the whole world to me. She was my baby. She was my rock. How could I possibly talk myself out of the negative talk that the depression beast says now? It was the hardest pain I've ever felt in my entire life. I didn't go into work, and by the afternoon, I was feeling so despondent I wasn't sure if I even wanted to do anything anymore. I had written an email during this time to my supervisor asking for a possible leave of absence as I didn't think I could get through this pain anymore. I also reached out to my therapist and booked an appointment. It scared me so much.

I could feel the darkness trying to take full advantage of the situation. It was trying to manipulate me, tell me things that were hurtful. It's my fault. I didn't take good enough care of her. I should have taken her to the vet more often. I should have listened to the vet last year who indicated she might have had issues with her kidneys then, but I thought he was trying to take advantage of me. Did I make her suffer in my fear of how much money this would cost? Did I really care more about money than her? As I said, it was a rough time. And with the diagnosis with type 2 diabetes the week before, I was thinking I didn't care if I lived or died so I want it to take me away.

Thursday I did go back to work, though I certainly didn't feel like it. My supervisor tried to encourage me to do it because he didn't think it would be a good idea for me to be alone then (he knows I suffer from depression) and thought work might be a good enough distraction to take my mind off of things. It was difficult. Tears would come and would just strike me out of the blue. My eyes and cheeks were so painful from the tears that it still hurts a bit, though I've been doing what I can to douse it with cold water and so forth.

I have gotten quite a lot of support from people I work with, family, and once again the Facebook community. Say whatever you want about social media, but I find it very helpful in times of crises. When my marriage fell apart, my Facebook friends helped me through it. And they have helped me through this as well. I am eternally grateful for this community, and somehow it makes me feel less alone. Thank you to all who have helped me. It has been greatly appreciated.

By Thursday evening, the tears stopped their non-stop falling. I started to notice that the dark side of the force, or the depression, was trying to take full advantage of the situation and make me think all of those horrible thoughts I was thinking before. Laugh if you will, but somehow equating my battle with depression with the Star Wars battle between the light and dark side of the force has helped me to detach it from myself. I want the Rebels to win, not the Emperor. I want to see the crusty old evil Emperor fall to his death into a pit. I want the good guys to win. So I started to shift my thoughts away from the self-deprecating ones to much better ones. I didn't know it was that serious. Lucy would want me to be happy, healthy and take care of my health. The more I convince myself Lucy would want me to be happy, the better I am getting. It's hard as Hell to go through, mind you, and every once in awhile the tears do show up out of the blue, but I don't feel as utterly hopeless as I did on Wednesday.

I've also decided to allow myself to go through the grieving process as it comes to me. I want it to work it's way through me and I don't want to suppress anything, especially my emotions. Part of the reason why I suffer from depression is because I spent too many years of my life trying to control or subdue my emotions. I want to experience them as they hit me, while simultaneously trying to keep the evil Emperor from turning me into a Sith with those bad thoughts.

I haven't been able to clean up anything or pick up anything of her's yet. I mean, her food dishes are still there on the kitchen floor. I feel like I really needed to write this blog and get a lot of this off of my chest. It's a gorgeous weekend, I think the first one we've had in a long time, so I'm opening up the windows, allowing some fresh air in, and will try to take my time to clean and organize things. I want to build her a little shrine in the living room. I also went to Jysk and bought a few picture frames. One large one, which will likely be this picture, as it is my favourite one:

The other is a bunch of heart collage frames with the word "LOVE" in the middle, so I want to choose six images that shows Lucy in her finest. I want that collage one to be in my bedroom. It's a white frame, so I am now wondering if I should paint it or leave it white. The white would look great on my light green walls on my bedroom, but also part of me wants to see maybe one heart being Lucy's eye colour, another her nose, maybe a light purple one (because I love purple)... I'm not sure if I am going to paint it or not, but I definitely want to build her these things.

It has been suggested to me, or people have inquired, if I am going to be getting another cat. At this point, I will say not now. I want to grieve her fully, and that dark side of the force is still trying to tell me bad things about this whole ordeal. I'm simply not ready to do it yet. I don't know if I ever will, because the pain of losing one has hurt me tremendously and I don't know if I want to go through that pain again. However, that is how I feel about it right now. That could change in a few months. Who knows? Maybe by my birthday or in a year, I might decide to get another one, but not right now. Lucy is irreplaceable. If it does happen, it will be way after I have fully grieved and find myself feeling lonely and wanting companionship again.

Thank you for all who have helped me out in your own ways. From emoticons on Facebook to my various posts about this, to cards, to giving words of encouragement. It does help knowing that you all have my back. Thanks for reading this. I will always love Lucy, and she will never be forgotten.