My aunt and uncle’s cat got hit by a car.
A lot of people think I’m loony for feeling so much love for animals, and for how deeply they effect me, but that’s just how I grew up. I also loved that cat. I shared her adoption post on Facebook two years ago and my aunt drove straight downtown and picked her up; this tiny, alien-eyed calico kitten. Even as an adult cat she was tiny and still alien-eyed, a rambunctious yet incredibly sweet little cat. She loved everyone.
I always thought she would get carried away by a hawk if she got outside. But the car won. And the driver didn’t stop. That always gets me.
I have been mourning, for lack of a better and less melodramatic word, for about 14 hours now. I’ve never truly had to deal with death–only the deaths of animals held near and dear to me. And that hurts.
This event triggered a breakdown of violently sobbing in my bed at 1 in the morning. The breakdown was bound to happen, but no one ever wants a breakdown to happen, ever.
I barely slept and did not sleep well. When I woke up my eyes were swollen halfway shut and the bags that hung under them were unlike anything I’d ever seen on my own face before. I made it to work and lasted a full 58 minutes before my lovely coworker Sarah told me to just leave, that she would cover for me. She understands more than anyone else ever could.
I cried about Ella, but I also cried about everything else that had been stacking up inside myself for months on end–the frustrating and depressing struggle of getting nowhere in the hunt for a better paying, more curated to my skills, job. The need for physical space and to truly be an independent adult. The heavy weight of loneliness because my friends are in different places, physically and emotionally, and I miss the old days. And also the heaviness of truly being alone, and realizing that is reality and probably will be for a very long time. And feeling left out and very behind because of that. Most of all, I cried because as much as I know it is just the way it is and it’ll never be the same, and it actually is somewhat better this way, it is painful to have a family that is entirely broken. No one else can understand it. We don’t even understand it.
The few people I’ve known who have died were not really in my life in a significant way. A few have actually died and a few have just died in a metaphorical sense. No one exists until they exist within the realm of my senses.
There will be no more Christmases with Ella aloof in my arms, hankering for cat treats, just as there haven’t been Christmases spent with my family, around the table covered in cheese plates and wine glasses, in a long time.