My Girl
Today is September 26th.
It's 5 o'clock in the morning.
For the last week I have been waking up around 3:27 A.M.
It's a rough time. I find myself crying a lot and claiming the rocking chair with her little green and tan afghan wrapped around my shoulders.
"Her" being Castiel.
Our little ginger girl.
My sweet pea, my little mountain lion.
Exactly one week ago today, at 3:27 A.M. she died in my arms in said rocking chair.
She was only 3 years old.
She was full of life and so happy out here in the mountains; so vibrant and silly, and protective.
On September 17th, 2 hours after she received a single dose of the flea medicine, ZoGuard, she drank a ton of water and diappeared outside. After 24 hours of frantic searching we were finally able to find her under some tiny aspen trees, thanks to the help of an employee's dog.
She was so lethargic that she let someone else pick her up, which is unheard of. Nobody but us were allowed get close enough to her to pick her up.
We brought her to the vet after 10 minutes of trying to get water and food into her. The tech at the front counter called animal poison control and spoke to the Vet who was hiding in the back.
I'm not even remotely kidding.
That woman was hiding in the back and said she was too busy getting ready for her next appt - a terminal dog coming in for his owners to talk about end of life care - to see Castiel. End of life planning for a dog that was wagging his tail and jumping and dancing around while he waited was more important than an immediate life or death situation right in front of her. Can you imagine being that kind of human being?
Animal poison control took all of the information we had, active ingredients and inactive ingredients, and after 20 minutes they told us there shouldn't be anything in it that would harm her. We were told she should be fine, just make sure she eats and drinks and that the vet would call to check on her in the morning.
I was so scared and focused on keeping Castiel loved that I didn't realize they weren't even going to look at her until we were told to go.
We foolishly trusted Animal Poison Control and the Vet tech, and they ended up being so, so very wrong.
I woke up at 3am and went up front to check on my sweet baby. She had snuggled in my arms all night until she fell asleep. Little did I know that was the last time she would be awake in my arms, otherwise I would have slept in the chair with her in my arms.
She was asleep, breathing gently, and I thought about laying down on the couch so I could be right there if she needed me, but fornsome reason I decided to go back to bed. I never fell asleep again. About 10 minutes later I heard what I thought was a little meow. I listened, then a couple of minutes later I heard it again, but louder and more distressed. I jumped out of bed and called to Cas that I could hear her and I was coming. As I got to her, I knew I wasn't going to be able to help her, but that didn't stop me from doing anything I could.
I scooped her up, all the while screaming at the top of my lungs.
Poor Andy (and Connor). He woke up to my sobbing screams...
"ANDY! I NEED YOU!!!"
"I NEED HELP!"
"ANDY! HELP ME, HELP, HELP, HELP!"
"PLEASE!!!"
"PLEASE CALL SOMEONE! HELP ME SAVE HER! WE HAVE TO DO SOMETHING!!!"
“PLEASE NOT MY BABY, PLEASE NOT MY SWEET PEA!"
“PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE!”
"DO SOMETHING!!!!! "HELP ME!!!"
“CASTIEL!!!”
“PLEEEEAAAASSSSEEEE!!!!!”
I'm pretty sure I also screamed for him, multiple times, to message our neighbors to turn on their wifi so we could find an emergency vet, but it was too late.
While I was frantic and panicking, my little Castiel took her last shuddering breath in my arms.
I screamed and sobbed, nonstop for about 15 minutes, before my body physically gave up. I wrapped her up in a little burgundy blanket, and held her in my arms, rocking in the same chair I rocked my babies in. We rocked for about 5 hours. I physically could not let go of her. I couldn't put her down. I was broken and bleeding inside, completely raw from an overwhelming onslaught of grief rolling through my mind and body.
Andy swears to me that she knew her Mama was there with her, that she knew she wasn't alone. That she couldn't be scared with me there holding her. I’m choosing to believe that because anything else would be too hard to handle.
Two hours after I wrapped up her little body to bring back to Minnesota and bury, I drove into town, to the vet's office. I told the girl at the counter, who wasn’t there the day before, my name and she said "Oh, you're on the call back list. How is Castiel doing today?" You should have seen the look of shock on her face when I told her Castiel was dead. She said "I thought...she...Oh, I'm so sorry!" I felt bad for the girl, as she was obviously told Cas was going to be fine. She was sweet. I'm glad she wasn't one of the women there the day before. I'm not sure I could have held my temper if one of those women had walked out to talk to me.
This week has been a struggle. One that I'm not sure I could have made it this far through, if it weren't for some very special friends and family.
When my brain was barely functioning again I got in touch with some of the most important people in my life, and threw myself on the ground in front of them, metaphorically speaking. I bared my pain and anguish and they showed up en force with the most love and care and prayers for healing I have ever been blessed enough to receive.
Between my amazing loved ones, and a hyperfixation on the Lucero Album "Among the Ghosts" that seems to have just the right music for this week (specifically the song "Bottom of the Sea"), I'm pretty sure they are the ONLY reason I am upright and functional today.
I am still in a great deal of pain, my heart is still completely broken and raw, everywhere I look I see my baby, I hear her meow at me, I see her walk by out of the corner of my eye...but I'm not bleeding out quite as fast.
Andy and I went for a walk yesterday.
Our first time since she passed. For some reason Andy wanted to walk around the campground. I was sobbing inside the entire time. I wanted to walk down the road, far away from where my little girl used to take walks with us and meow for us to slow down so she could explore more. Not in the campground, where I see her climbing trees, or lounging under a bear locker, or leaping through the long grass trying to catch grasshoppers. Or walking along the beach with me, looking at rocks and rescuing grasshoppers from the water.
After this situation I've been thinking about next summer out here, and the change we need to make.
We're in the mountains right now and, thanks to T-mobile's shitty new policy change removing nationwide roaming for all US customers, we have zero data. We are using our neighbor's starlink out here, which gets turned off when they go to bed at night and doesn't come back on until well into the morning.
I do believe having a dedicated internet service instead of using our phones, which for the last two years worked great, is going to be the result. And we definitely will not be turning it off at night, in there's ever an emergency. I never want anyone to feel as helpless as I did in that moment.
I also believe that my call-out for help brought me enough healing to tentatively decide that when we get back to Tennessee, we will need to find a senior cat to adopt, so we can bring love and a home to someone who is alone and scared, someone who needs a new chance and some snuggles, and a safe place for their heart.
To all of my friends and family who answered my frantic, pain-filled call for help, thank you. I'm pretty sure you are the only reasons why I am still standing. Why I am able to write this and keep on going. Why I was able to see through my grief and realize that everything happens for a reason, and even if I don't understand those reasons yet, even when they are so painful I simply want to lay down and never get up again.
Castiel was brought into our lives in order to show us how to live with wonder and joy, how to love even more unconditionally than ever before. To show us patience and to give us a love we'd never had before. Castiel was so different than Boo or Turbo ever were. Did you know ginger girls are rare? Kind of like how tortise shell's are always girls, gingers are almost always boys. She was truly unique, her personality was hers alone, and so special and sweet.
Goodnight, my little Castiel.
Be safe out there, have fun.
Be a good girl, make good choices
Mamma and daddy love you 💔
