Eulogy for the Nameless

You know what? I need to say something. I need to say it because with all the weight that's sitting on me right now, this right here, is fucking eating me from the inside out. And I know some of you, most of you, don't or won't care. "Oh well it's just a cat, life's not fair." Some of you won't even bother to read this upon realizing that I'm writing for a cat. You'll turn and look the other way, and go about your business elsewhere without a second thought. But I'm writing this now, not just for the cat. Because what happened to that cat is a representation of everything wrong with society and people today. There's a good fucking reason why I live in almost total isolation. So, from here on out, I speak in the hopes that you can see through my eyes what I saw.

Just two days ago, I went driving around with my friend. He stopped by anacquaintances place to see how things were going. I use acquaintance very loosely. And as I walked through the grass, lo and behold, on the ground beneath me was a kitten, with it's back turned to us. When I went over to him, he simply turned his head towards the sound as it approached him, and looked up as I called out at him.

And there, on seeing what was wrong with the cat, along with my friend, we asked if we could take the cat. The loose acquaintance said sure thing. My friend could not take the cat, because he himself has no more room for cats. And, admittedly neither do I. But I wouldn't stand around and wait for something to happen. So I picked up that decrepit bundle of fur, sick from his eyes with green shit that blinded his vision entirely, and snot and mucus and blood constantly running from his nose, and I brought him home.

I cleaned out his eyes, and cleaned his nose, bought some tuna, bought some wet catfood, gave him dry food  and water, and did my best to feed him and get him something to drink. None of it worked save for the water. So, I turned the heater on and left the cat in my room with the light on, in that small little cage of his. Every time without fail, when I opened up the door, the first thing the cat did, decripit and sick as he was, was to rush over and try to get out to explore. Now, I had to keep him contained, because I have my own cats too. But for this, I am sorry, and I always will be, because at the time, I didn't recognize it for what it was.

But, in the night, I did recognize one thing. When I turned out the light and tried to sleep, the kitten howled. Clawed at the door and made a fuss. So I turned the light back on. And soon, the fuss stopped. It was the darkness. The dark of the night, the pitch black void of going blind through being sick as your eyes clouded shut and encrusted with bile and toxins. It was terrifying. So I left the light on. And I decided to stay up. I stayed up all night, making noise, poking my fingers through the cage, and letting the cat know that I was there, all night. And in the morning, I stood up, against sleep, and started work in my restuarant. And when the time of day came that business was slow and I could let my mother manage, I set off.

The kitten had ceased activity and remained in the back of the carrier, still as stone. But I checked. And he was indeed alive, and responsive when I called out. But I hurried off to the vets, regardless. And when I arrived at the vets, and they pulled him out, sat him down on a hot pad and wrapped a heated blanket around him, and they cleaned out his eyes from the fresh layer of bile and toxins, something happened. The kitten was neither afraid, nor weary. It wanted to explore, to see and to look. And I stayed with it, rubbed his head and was surprised at how responsive he was. And so I looked down, bringing my eyes up to the damaged remains of his, the kitten moved forwards and climbed my arm, making one final jump onto my shoulders, where it sat there in a bundle until the vet pulled him off for me because I didn't have the heart to.

And then, that was it. It was beyond my control. And the vets took him. And, that was the last time I'd see this cat alive. On the first day, things were okay, still in bad shape, the vets had to force feed him and stick an IV to give him water. But the kitten was active. But I decided that they should keep him overnight, just in case. And, this morning, I got the call from the vet as my wake up to the morning and the day in general. The kitten didn't make it.

And then I understood. The attempts to leave the cage. The howling in the dark. The rubbing of his head on my hand and that one, final jump onto my shoulder. His time was over, and that was it. Yet to despite it's misery, it's diarrhea, its damaged and clogged eyes, its plugged nose, its underweight, starving and dehydrated body, and the ulcers that plauged his mouth and the worms that infested his insides and god only knows what other horrible plagues the cat was bestowed with, all this cat wanted to do was what every kitten at six weeks old did. Explore the  world around it, look and see all the new things to it, and most of all, it wanted someone, something, anything out there to show that it cared.

And so I buried you today. I buried you on the old farm I grew up on, along with all the other animals that have come and gone through my life, and my families life through the years. I pulled what remained of your disease ridden body from the box you were placed in, as you were stone still, curled up as if you were sleeping, and I put you into a hole into the earth, and I buried you. You were six weeks old, weighed barely a pound, and you never had a name.

And for that, I'm sorry. I'm sorry I didn't find you in time. And I'm sorry that I will never be there to give you a life worth living, days and hours spent with affection and love and somebody who cared.

Most of all, I'm sorry that the world has gone blind, that there are people out there, who not only hold no regard for the life of human beings, but hold no regards for any life form, no matter how far it is beneath them. I'm sorry that they hold no respect, and no common sense. I'm sorry, that a meaningless, material construct that was more important and valuable to one person than your life. I offered what I could. I threw everything I had, every last scrap of money I could scrounge out to the vets who did everything they could were I couldn't. And now I'm broke. Out of money and out of time against the coming hardships of the winter. But I don't care, because money is money. If you seek it, you will find it. And if you have it, you will spend it, because that is the only reason it exists. But you should never forget or allow yourself to get caught in the trap that comes with it, blind you to the things that really matter.

If somebody came to me, and said I could bring you back if I gave them the envelope in the safe containing all the money I've been so desperately trying to save to find myself a home, I would give it, without question or pause. But life doesn't work that way. Life isn't fair. And I'm sorry that through my best efforts I couldn' make it fair.

But I will remember the hours I spent with you. That long night, as I checked on you to make sure you were still alive. The agonizing truck ride for 50 minutes as I drove to bring you somewhere you could get more help. And finally, that last will in your bones that fought against every disease ridden parasite and broken part of your body that allowed you to climb up onto my shoulder one last time.

The world at large, and the person who refused to take care of you may not have cared.

But I did. And I always will. And I'm sorry I couldn't give you a better life.

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I might have teared up.

I did... 

Damn, that's bummer what happened. My cat was found in a similar environment, but he's still alive and kicking today (and I'm pretty attached to him). He was found among his siblings, I guess, which were smashed and crushed and left alone.

Did you ever report that faggot to the animal care center?

My emotions weren't ready for this eulogy.

This is why books have teasers on the back, sometime you don't have time to read a 350 page novel.

It... um... it's a cat.

Some of you can be real figs sometimes... ;_;
Sandtrap is a saint...

It... um... it's a cat.

It may have been just a cat. But to me and what I saw, it was more than that. Right now, I have more to deal with besides the passing of a cat. I've gone through many cats over the years. Some of old age, some of horrible maulings, and some just had bad luck. And it hurts when you come to know something and you lose it. But right now, there's so much weighing down on me, and I'm so far down the hole that I'm starting to find myself in dark places again, that I placed a hope in that cat. I saw the will to move, the will to live despite what the world had thrown at it.

And I hoped that it would come through. I knew it would come through. And that was a mistake.

Because that was the last straw. And now I am broken.

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Welp, now I'm bummed.

You know, this reminds me of when I was little. I was at my grandma's house helping her with some yard-work. I went into the garage to put some tools back and right above my head was a little hummingbird trying to get out. It was a hot day and I figured the poor thing was baking up there under the roof of a metal garage. So, we managed to get it out and the poor thing was too exhausted to move much. We fed him some nectar from the hummingbird feeder for about an hour, but it didn't help. He died. We buried him in the backyard and me, being the little 2nd grader that I was, place a little cardboard tombstone over his grave. I'll admit, I cried a bit.

Yeah... this got me...

I don't normally cry, but dammit Sandtrap you did it.

RIP little guy

I cried still crying. It reminds me of my first cat. His collar caught on the gate and he hung. I cried for hours. I don't remember him anymore. All I see is a frozen corpse with its eyes rolled back and his tongue hanging out. He was such a sweet clingy thing too. I hate myself for not caring enough to pet him more. Thx OP.

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This is why books have teasers on the back, sometime you don't have time to read a 350 page novel.

And sometimes, it's good to just pick a random book and jump in. You might surprise yourself one day with what you find.

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Friends die, things go wrong. It's life.

Is it horrible? Yes. What you wrote is beautiful, but at the same time you're wallowing in self pity. The cat wasn't. The cat used its last bit of energy to explore and show appreciation for your care. Be glad. This should be something that teaches you that misery gets you nothing. Be like the cat. He taught you something not many humans can.

Oh believe me I'm well aware that letting misery get the best of you leads nowhere. The fact that I woke up this morning, the fact that I'm still here this morning, is a testament to it. But this time of year, this isn't something I can fight well. This isn't a depression that's set in because of me. I can keep that one at bay. But this one, is environmental. And I can't change that until winter rolls in.

It's been too much lately. Too many troubles to work and worry on, and never enough time to fix all of it. But just because I'm deeply depressed doesn't mean there's something in there that will keep me going. I'll do what I've always done. One foot in front of the other. If I could push through the depression I had a few years ago, bring myself back from the edge, and I did it alone, then surely, I can keep going this time around, with the company of friends at my side.

Sucks you had to watch it die, but eh what're you gonna do.

If I were a tad more "normal", I'd be in tears right now.

GG, sandtrap. You did what was needed of you. It wasn't enough, but the effort is what matters.

I salute in your general direction. Goodluck on future endeavours.

Read this with Heart of Courage in the background.

Somewhere, deep down, my heart stirred from its slumber.

Sucks you had to watch it die, but eh what're you gonna do.

Send the SPCA off to the property that I got the cat from. Get them to spay and fix up all the sick cats. Tell them to send the owner the bill in the mail as a christmas present.

Boot his fucking ass out of my home and work place if he ever shows up.

Royally fuck up the owner's reputation around the area, which is already bad to begin with. I've seen his place and know how he lives. When there's trouble, nobody's going to give him a hand. Karma.