LotyLauda

About 11 years ago, one evening, I was sitting at the kitchen table. I was doing my math homeworks and my mind was cluttered with numbers and equations. Suddenly I see emerge from the door a small black ball of fur, which stops at the door, looks around, and then begins his entrance with an endless scared meowing. A few seconds later comes my cat, her mom, who grabs him and takes him back immediately in the box where he was cared for during the first months of his life.
Years later, I was in the kitchen of the new house, studying for exams. I felt an indescribable noise, made of growls and claws skidding on the parquet; running in the kitchen, I saw the mother cat, chased by what once was a kitten that you could hold in one hand, now a cat over 10 kg.
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That's how I prefer to remember Felix, my cat who now rests in the garden. In my head there is a ruthless conflict of emotions. Of course I’m sad and frustrated, Felix was a unique cat in its kind, a friend to come home after being out of the house, in the midst of that jungle, the world. It’s obvious that I’ll miss him, and it’ll take some 'time to resign myself to the idea that Felix will not be waiting for me and will no longer be on my bed to watch me while I work on the computer.

I’m also angry. Because I sensed a certain lack of interest on the part of veterinarians to treat him appropriately; They said it was absolutely necessary  to make drip every day. But on Friday morning were closed, were closed on Saturday afternoons, Sundays were closed, on Monday were closed, and apparently urgent care for a sick cat was not a good enough reason to make an exception (there were 3! 3 vets in only 1 clinic! I don’t want to dictate the rules, but common sense suggests to me that they could arrange shifts). The veterinarian told me to make the drip at home. Of course, because at home I’ve a veterinary clinic! We ended up with a bottle of clear liquid, a pipe, and a cat anything but happy to make drips even at home. We hung the bottle at ceiling in a rudimentary way, but it worked only once, because it was discovered that Felix has small and fragile veins, so he need to change the vein every time. We tried to contact the veterinarian, but was unavailable throughout the day, and the next day she had a visit to the dentist ... result: Felix worsened.

Second round with the veterinary, which tells me that I must do the drip ABSOLUTELY EVERY DAY. ... So it's my fault?!? I say that a house is impossible, I don’t have the skills to make him a drip done well (don’t we all veterinary graduates!). She says to me: "you can’t even go crazy" ... consistent to the end, huh? Result: Felix worsened.

Yet another round with the veterinary: asks me to leave him to the clinic for a week for intensive therapy. Reluctantly I leave him there. I go to find him the next day (late afternoon) ... the veterinary with whom we spoke wasn’t there, the other two didn’t even know what to do, they were convinced that I came to take him home .... At the weekend the situation hasn’t improved and the veterinary said she don’t know what to do, so she told me that I would have take him back without the needle. I realized only once at home, when Felix came out of the cage, which hadn’t taken away the needle; I call the veterinary and she, in a tone that I would say it was pure irony, told me “oops, I forgot it!” After watching these scenes for a month, imagine the nervous breakdown that I was going to have!
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Anger aside, Felix's death also marks the conclusion of an existence that I consider happy and satisfying. We have done everything to make his life beautiful and joyful and I ‘ve no remorse or regrets; I’ll always remember with pleasure all the times we had together, from that time when I saw him just born and I took it in my hand for the first time until he spent his last night with me.

I even miss the odious sound of his nails on the sofa, his enter th by turning the keys  ... and then not close the door.
It was a real friend, closer to me much more than humans, for 11 years.

Yesterday I talked with my best friend, telling her how bad I feel, and she said confidently, "it's not a farewell ...". After a few seconds she said again, "it’s not a farewell ...". She waited another few seconds, she hugged me, and repeated, "it’s not a farewell."
Whatever that meant, I know that Felix will remain in my memory forever alive and safe in my heart.

I wanted to share with you this Last Goodbye to Felix.

It wasn’t my intention to use the Journal to write this ... or maybe I was hoping I'd never have to do it.

But I need to talk about it.

My cat, Felix, has renal failure ... I knew this about a month ago .... I'm trying everything, but for now things are stable, ie isn’t improved. It's not even worsened, but things aren’t going as I hoped. Really, I don’t know how it will end; I’ll don’t want to make his life a torment, forcing him to endless treatments that he can’t stand.. But I can’t give up cure him if there is still something meaningful to do.

He was my life mate for 11 years, and feel that he's leaving is difficult. For now I'm hoping for the best, but I don’t exclude anything.

Please, if you comment: write something comforting. Those phrases like "it’s only a cat" don’t help me; I know, it’s true, but it's also a member of my family.

Bye, friends