Finding A New Breath

 Something that has been really hard for me is the act of having to willing let go of my baby. By baby, I mean my 17 year old cat who has been glued to me and my life since I was 7 years old. His name is Koko, and he left me and this jumbled world behind yesterday. 

 

Koko investigating the fresh built TV stand by moi

 

 It was odd. I wasn't expecting it to happen as it did, and quite frankly, I wish it hadn't happened the way it did. I wish he would've lived a minimum of five more years, or lived forever. As one always wishes. He was stubborn all the way until the end, fighting to stay with me for one more minute. That's when my heart truly broke in half--when he tried to stay with me because he personally wasn't ready either, despite his body telling us both that it was time to go. *insert me crying once again*

I remember his first day as if it was yesterday. Which in a way, it was. It will always be my yesterday. A blue suede couch, me on the furthest end, legs curled up under me like always, watching tv while Mom washed dishes. My aunt promptly came over, unbeknownst to me but most likely a plot between her and my mom, carrying two sevenish week old kittens. One was a beautiful brown tabby, the other..the other was gorgeous. Bright sky blue eyes, pale grey coat with dark grey stripings in areas, a deep charcoal grey tail, and 27 toes. That's right, 27. That toe-ful wonder was my Koko. 

I don't really remember a time without this ball of grey fur and toes, but it's also hard to remember many days as there were so very many. But alas, there was not many enough. He was glorious. He was smart. He was beautiful. He was my best friend. He was mine.

I sit here and cry at each word, trying to combat the emotion long enough to type this out, barely winning. I don't mind the crying, it means that he truly made an impact on me and my life. But it still hurts like no other pain that I have felt. I look at my bed and see him snuggled up in a blanket purring. I look at the kitchen counter and see him headbutting my finger trying to guilt me into feeding him for the millionth time that day. I look at clothes on the floor and see him rolling around in my dirty gym shorts like it's the best thing he has ever found. I look at my backyard and see him lounging in the sun or sneaking through the cane. I see him everywhere. I see him, and I hurt. 

His end came too quickly. He was chunky and a fart at Christmas, stealing my heated blanket in February, and then...and then the chunk was disappearing and the fart mentality was slipping. He was fine, and then he wasn't. Which has brought so much guilt and regret to my already swirling mind, and I blame myself. Did I not feed him enough? Was I too impatient to sit and really, truly look at him? Were there active signs that I missed? Did, how, why, what, when, every question racing through my brain. All of it and I can't help but feel like I wronged him by not doing more, not trying harder to be there. 

We think it was cancer. He had a few cysts on his small frame, one on his chin, another at the scruff of his neck, and others. This past weekend, we noticed the one on his chin disappeared, as did the hefty coat of fur. We think it was cancer. He changed so rapidly, so suddenly, and it wasn't enough time for us to actually notice. He ate like a pig and constantly drank his goats milk to help his digestion, us desperately trying to get him to gain more weight, but never quite passing 7 pounds. We think it was cancer, but we will never know. We can only think, but I don't want to think. I just want to remember.

He was beautiful. He was kind. He was fat. He was loving. He was amazing. He was Koko.

 

 

Koko in his prime, 2012

just LOOK at those eyes. I miss those eyes.

Rest in peace, my sweet angel. I love you always.