The warmth of the sun | An ode to Pivot & Bonnie

video upload by MIDERA

"On the way to the emergency vet, Pivot by my side. I remember the sun on her carrier. I hoped it had warmed her. Or if nothing else, I hoped the sound of my voice or my daughter's kept her company. Today was a hard day. It was time to put Pivot to sleep.

Pivot was very sick. Yesterday, she had thrown up multiple times and afterwards, just laid down and wouldn't move. I couldn't entice her to eat, not yesterday, not today - it's my litmus test for how my cat is doing. She, in fact, would move away from it. I had hoped over night she would feel better, but it just did not happen. She laid by a water bowl in the kitchen and occasionally drink from it (a sign, I thought, that she was improving), but she just seemed not well. I made the call. It had to be done.

Everyone said their goodbye's. My wife would stay home with our 2 year old who would not have handled the mood very well. However, to my surprise, my 6 year old wanted to come. I was glad. Pivot had laid with her for years. She would lay on my wife when she was pregnant with my daughter. She would lay by her carrier when she was asleep in it. She was always with her. Pivot was her fur mama. She loved my daughter.

It was a big gift that my daughter came with. When I cried, she would say "It's ok Papa." She was strong. Of course, she cried too. But the resilience of a 6 year old who, in 6 months, has had to deal with the loss of two of her favorite pets, is impressive. Tonight there was a lot of "I miss Bonnie and Pivot." I do too. We cried a lot.

I got Pivot in August of 2008, a week after I lost my last cat, Winchester. Pivot was best friends with Bonnie. Pivot was nuts. She would fly around my house and body slam cat scratch toys. She would lay down with rugs and kick them. But she would lay next to my face and fall asleep. If I was sad, I could make fake sad meow sounds and she would run to me. She always comforted me.

I did want to try to do an in-home service for putting her down. I thought that would be the kind thing to do, because she hated traveling, but ultimately, I knew it should be done sooner than later, and honestly, those home services are kind of a lot of money ($700+ instead of $400+). I feel a little bad that I chose the cheaper option, because Pivot HATED traveling (like she would pee herself when we'd leave the house). Today - hardly a peep. She did meow, but she had such little strength. I knew sending her off earlier was the better option too. Doing it away from the house at least made it so I didn't need to look at a spot and say "That's where Pivot died." Pivot let go of this life at 1:10PM, in my arms, full of love, all of which I hope she took with her.

So - here I am, alone now, everyone else asleep in the house. I wrote this as I sat here and felt the mood was fitting. I think of myself as the Rhodes Piano voice, a sad depressing tone, mixed in with the voice of Pivot, dancing around my sadness, as she really did so well. It begins and ends without her, the way our lives were entwined. She will be forever missed.|

Rhodes Piano in Strymon DIG
Prophet 10 in Strymon El Cap
All through Eventide Blackhole VST"

Update:

Bonnie

video upload by Mike Lewis

"Mar 13, 2023
This last weekend, on March 11th, I put my dear friend Bonnie (Flame Point Siamese cat) to sleep. She suffered a stroke (or had a growth in her brain) on Tuesday March 7th. We found her walking in circles, I think she was suddenly blinded. She was not well. I thought "if this is a stroke, cats can recover, even if she's blind." I tried to hold on to her, but something changed even further on Thursday night. That was the moment I realized that she had stopped purring when I pet her (she had been purring in the day). I think she may have had seizures, because I remember seeing blood on her paw pads, where her nails would have dug in (which were not there in the afternoon).

I think only one word really describes how I feel about losing her: Devastated.

She lived at least 15 years (with me) and was adopted in 2007, being about 2-4 years old (as a guess), meaning she was about 18-20 years old. That was a good long life for a cat. I had hoped she would have made it to 23 years old... dying in her sleep peacefully, but she (and I) didn't get that. I watched her suffer for a few days, but I think Thursday she stopped eating entirely. On Friday, I found her stuck behind the litter box and I knew that was time.

I don't know why I feel such guilt, but apparently that's a common feeling when you lose a pet. I think I feel guilty that I was kinda mean to her in the first year I had her. I even told people I didn't want her (note, that I could not ever bring myself to get rid of her). I don't know why I felt those things. I even said she was ugly (she did have a really funny weird brown spot on her nose that always made her look like she was snarling). I feel a lot of guilt for feeling and saying these things. I know she didn't understand them, but I wasn't kind.

What's strange is, all the things I found annoying or disliked, just now happen to be all of the things I miss. Like her tenacity to get in my lap and stop at nothing until she won (multiple times I'd get her off my lap, eventually she'd sneak in and win). Or her licking my arms. Or that funny snarl look on her face. These things... they just stick in my mind and I just absolutely devastated that I can't experience them now.

The hardest part for me was after realizing she was going to be put down - telling her what a good kitty she was, how I loved her so much, and that she was one of my best friends. Well, the hardest part was holding on to her as life left her. I knew she was no longer in pain, but I think that feeling will stay with me forever. We drove to the vet in the same car she came home in when I adopted her. I thought she'd like that. I talked to her in the car, telling her how beautiful it was outside with the thick snow falling gently in the grey sky. While she was probably deaf, and now blind, I hoped she could hear me, even just a little.

Now, she is gone. I look at the kitties and puppy I have left and tell myself that I need to be more present for them. I also tell myself, everything that bothers me about my pets will be the very things I will miss when they're gone. I need to be more present in general, for my wife and my kids.

There is the biggest hole in my heart, where apparently Bonnie resided. I had no idea how big that space was until she left me."