Some of you may remember my Black Kitty, the stray I rescued, I mean, who rescued me. Blackie1 was his grandson. I never even gave him a real name either. I talked about him here, and his story is just way too damn short:
Oh. No.
I came home early on Wednesday afternoon. Blackie1 was lying in the backyard, and I could immediately tell he didn’t feel good. He just gave me this awful look and the most pitiful meow I’ve ever heard (and I’ve heard some horrible ones). I examined him the best I could, but there were no obvious injuries. He made a weak attempt to growl at me (which he never ever did) only when I tried to feel around his hips. He didn’t want to eat or drink. He had been AWOL for a day or so, and I hoped maybe he just ate something bad and would soon recover. He went under the house, and I left him alone mostly, except for checking on him every now and then through the rest of the day and that night.
Thursday morning he was still under the house and didn’t want to come out, but he was closer to the opening than he was the night before. I had made some shelters for the cats several weeks ago, so I put him in one of those. They’re filled with hay, so I thought at least maybe he’d be a little more comfortable, even if he didn’t want to get up and move around. Right before I left for work, I checked on him again, and he had rearranged himself and was sleeping.
When I got home Thursday, Blackie1 had moved back further under the house and still didn’t want to come out. Of course, I went under there after him. He was lying down like he was taking a nap, with his paws tucked under him and his head up. I know he heard me when I called to him, and I petted him gently for a few minutes, but he still didn’t really want to be bothered. I didn’t really want to force him out, but now I wish I had.
When I got up Friday morning, I prayed there would be a black monster kitty at the back door. When he wasn’t there, I had a bad feeling. I just knew. I went under the house again, and Blackie1 was lying in the exact same spot as the night before. He was on his side, still looking like he was just sleeping, but my heart was already breaking before I called to him or even touched him. He was gone. I just laid there for about 5 minutes telling him I’m sorry over and over. I got him out and washed the dirt off him and wrapped him in a towel.
I was going to bury him when I got home from work, but when I called my daughter, she said I had enough to deal with and she’d take care of him. I insisted I could handle it, but she insisted that I didn’t have to. I had to go to work, but I left early because I just couldn’t concentrate on anything, and I had to force myself not to just fall on the floor and bawl my head off.
I called my daughter and she had just finished burying him in her beautiful yard under the oak trees, next to her two doggies. I said I hoped Blackie1 wasn’t upset at being around strangers, because he didn’t even know her. She said, “Mama. Really? You KNOW I introduced them first.” Yep, that’s my kid.
I also knew she would examine Blackie1, even though I didn’t ask her to. She said what I’d already been thinking, that he probably got hit by a car or something. She described a big lump on his back that was almost between his hips but about an inch from the base of his tail. I had not felt that when I was checking him over. Obviously, he didn’t get directly run over by a car, but he may have been trying to avoid it and got knocked over or bounced off it anyway. He wasn’t paralyzed, but maybe he had internal injuries or spinal cord injuries. My daughter also talked to her vet for about an hour – no surprise there either – but as with Black Kitty, I’ll just be making myself crazy trying to figure out what happened.
Blackie1 deserved so much better. He was huge, probably 15 lbs, but he was still just a baby. I’m so mad at myself for not bringing him in the house the night before he died. I know I couldn’t have saved him, but at least he would have been in a safe, warm place instead of in the cold dirt all by himself. He loved me more than the other kitties did, even though I warned him not to. I told him over and over I would never be able to love another Black Kitty, but I sure was wrong about that.
R(un) in peace, Blackie1! Tell your Gramps that I’m still riiiiiiiiiiight here. xoxoxoxo
Oh. No.
I came home early on Wednesday afternoon. Blackie1 was lying in the backyard, and I could immediately tell he didn’t feel good. He just gave me this awful look and the most pitiful meow I’ve ever heard (and I’ve heard some horrible ones). I examined him the best I could, but there were no obvious injuries. He made a weak attempt to growl at me (which he never ever did) only when I tried to feel around his hips. He didn’t want to eat or drink. He had been AWOL for a day or so, and I hoped maybe he just ate something bad and would soon recover. He went under the house, and I left him alone mostly, except for checking on him every now and then through the rest of the day and that night.
Thursday morning he was still under the house and didn’t want to come out, but he was closer to the opening than he was the night before. I had made some shelters for the cats several weeks ago, so I put him in one of those. They’re filled with hay, so I thought at least maybe he’d be a little more comfortable, even if he didn’t want to get up and move around. Right before I left for work, I checked on him again, and he had rearranged himself and was sleeping.
When I got home Thursday, Blackie1 had moved back further under the house and still didn’t want to come out. Of course, I went under there after him. He was lying down like he was taking a nap, with his paws tucked under him and his head up. I know he heard me when I called to him, and I petted him gently for a few minutes, but he still didn’t really want to be bothered. I didn’t really want to force him out, but now I wish I had.
When I got up Friday morning, I prayed there would be a black monster kitty at the back door. When he wasn’t there, I had a bad feeling. I just knew. I went under the house again, and Blackie1 was lying in the exact same spot as the night before. He was on his side, still looking like he was just sleeping, but my heart was already breaking before I called to him or even touched him. He was gone. I just laid there for about 5 minutes telling him I’m sorry over and over. I got him out and washed the dirt off him and wrapped him in a towel.
I was going to bury him when I got home from work, but when I called my daughter, she said I had enough to deal with and she’d take care of him. I insisted I could handle it, but she insisted that I didn’t have to. I had to go to work, but I left early because I just couldn’t concentrate on anything, and I had to force myself not to just fall on the floor and bawl my head off.
I called my daughter and she had just finished burying him in her beautiful yard under the oak trees, next to her two doggies. I said I hoped Blackie1 wasn’t upset at being around strangers, because he didn’t even know her. She said, “Mama. Really? You KNOW I introduced them first.” Yep, that’s my kid.
I also knew she would examine Blackie1, even though I didn’t ask her to. She said what I’d already been thinking, that he probably got hit by a car or something. She described a big lump on his back that was almost between his hips but about an inch from the base of his tail. I had not felt that when I was checking him over. Obviously, he didn’t get directly run over by a car, but he may have been trying to avoid it and got knocked over or bounced off it anyway. He wasn’t paralyzed, but maybe he had internal injuries or spinal cord injuries. My daughter also talked to her vet for about an hour – no surprise there either – but as with Black Kitty, I’ll just be making myself crazy trying to figure out what happened.
Blackie1 deserved so much better. He was huge, probably 15 lbs, but he was still just a baby. I’m so mad at myself for not bringing him in the house the night before he died. I know I couldn’t have saved him, but at least he would have been in a safe, warm place instead of in the cold dirt all by himself. He loved me more than the other kitties did, even though I warned him not to. I told him over and over I would never be able to love another Black Kitty, but I sure was wrong about that.
R(un) in peace, Blackie1! Tell your Gramps that I’m still riiiiiiiiiiight here. xoxoxoxo
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