Today, I'm giving up my cat. I've retyped that sentence about five times. Giving her away. Surrendering. Giving up on her.
I've had her 14 years. She's a good girl. A lot like me, I guess. She doesn't like a lot of attention. She hangs out by herself a lot. When she wants something, she'll let you know without too much drama.
If you've read my previous posts, you know Luther is pretty much always downstairs. When I spend time with Luther, once in a great while, she'll come down and sit a few feet away from us. Generally, though, she hangs out on the stairs so she's near us but not in the same room with him.
When I first got her, I didn't see her for about 3 months. She hid. I knew she was alive because she was eating and pooping. Eventually she came out and we became friends. I am her only friend because she is unwilling to come out and meet anyone else. Most of my friends and family don't believe I have a cat; they've never seen her.
Now that we're heading south for a few months, now that we're moving and don't want cat hair and allergies at anyone else's home, it's time to surrender my cat.
I've been thinking about this for a long time. I'm off to let her go right now. More later.
Well -- I guess I don't need to write Baby's (that's her name) obituary. She's not dead. She's finding a new home (hopefully). They said they have a couple different programs for older, shy cats - well, probably for cats that don't get adopted right away because they aren't super cat-cute... one of the programs is called "Hidden Gems" - which made me smile. My hidden gem of a cat.
I think this whole thing isn't about the cat. Well -- it is. I'm sad. I'm sad right now that she isn't here. I wonder if she's scared or lonely.
But it's more about the changes, these changes we're all going through... the feelings we all get to feel.
I'm pissed off that I gave up my career, that I gave up my cat, that I'm giving up my home. Pissed off in a general, shake-my-fist at the sky kind of mad. I'm not mad at Luther. Far from it. Just pissed at ALS.
It's difficult to explain to most folks. We're so so so fortunate that I can afford to stop working. How lucky is it that I can move in with my parents? They live close. They said YES. We're going south for the winter.
At the same time, I'm feeling scared.
Ok. Enough, I guess. I can "wrassle" with these feelings forever.
I talked to my therapist about letting go of these feelings and he said you'll never let go of the feelings. They aren't things to let go of. The stuff that makes you feel is what you let go of, not the feeling. Makes sense in many situations but... in this case, it's a terminal illness that makes me feel this stuff. How do I let go of that?