My heart aches

Reality has really hit home now, I believe, especially regarding the loss of my kitties.

I saw a cat on the Orange County Animal Shelter website that looked remarkably like my Felix, and, for a second, I thought that maybe it was him. But this cat had a black chin, and my Felix’s chin was white. Plus, Felix was microchipped, so I would have been contacted if it had been him.

I don’t want to believe that I’ll never see them again, but I know that the reality is that they are gone, whether or not their remains are ever found.

At night, when I think about my babies, I can almost feel their soft warm fur and hear their soothing purrs. One of the most amazing experiences I’ve ever had was one night last winter – I was feeling pretty overwhelmed and upset, and my four former feral kittens all climbed on my bed and laid around my head or across my chest and just purred. I felt so comforted by them, knowing that mere months before, those little guys were hissing and spitting at me if I even glanced in their direction. The change in them was dramatic, and, I felt, meant they would have a much happier life. My Felix, in particular, no longer showed any sign of having been feral. He was the gentlest, sweetest cat you could ever hope to meet. My FFFs (formerly feral felines) were only a little over a year old.

Then there was my Pip. Pip was, well, a freaky cat who loved only me. I’d had him since he was three weeks old, and had to bottle feed him, so he never learned how to be a real cat. He would lay beside me or in my lap and suckle on my shirt, kneading me with his claws. He knew exactly what to do to make me get up to feed him – knock things off my bedside table or rattle a plastic shopping bag. He was a 15 lb. baby – my baby. Of all of my furbabies, it’s Pip I miss the most. He was only three years old.

I told my therapist on Wednesday night that I took great solace in knowing that my cats would likely still be with me long after my sweet dogs were gone. Puddin’ and Penny are 8 and 9 years old, respectively, and, though they’re healthy girls now, I know all too well how short a dog’s life actually is. They are small dogs, so they could live to be 14 or 15 years old, but probably not much past that. Cats, though, can live to be 18-20 years old, and I had expected to have them with me until I was in my late 40s.

To lose them all at once… all five, all at once.

How seriously fucked up.

Surviving

Sorry for the lack of posting. I’ve been spending the last three weeks (can you believe it’s been almost a month since the fire?) just trying to keep my head above water. Commuting almost an hour each way to work since returning a week after the fire, trying to find a place to live and a car to drive, hoping that my fire proof box would turn up as the firemen sifted through the remains of the building, mourning the loss of my beautiful babies yet trying to retain some amount of hope that maybe one of them made it out alive…

For some time now, this whole experience hasn’t felt real. I’ve known intellectually since the morning of September 30 that the fire happened, but it’s only now, nearly a month later, that it’s all starting to sink in emotionally.

I’ve found a new place to live, back in Carrboro, though not in an apartment complex. It’s a short lease, through the end of May, but it will get me back closer to work and give me time to look for something else that might be more permanent. Since this is a university town, it’s much easier to find a place to rent with a lease starting at the beginning or end of a semester, rather than in the middle. In other words, the fire didn’t happen at the most convenient time, as if there were such a thing. My new place is in a single story triplex, with a young couple and child on one side of me and a single woman on the other. It’s two bedrooms, which are carpeted, hardwoods in the living room/kitchen/dining area/hallway, and stone tile in the bathroom. All new appliances, and a washer and dryer are included. There’s also a front and a back door, which makes me feel a bit more safe, as there’s more than one exit.

I bought a car yesterday – a 99 Toyota Corolla with about 73,000 miles on it and a clean Carfax and maintenance record. It was a one owner car. My old 2000 Mazda Protege had about 80,000 on it and had some little annoying problems it had developed, so I think I did okay. My only requirements were that the car be reliable and get good gas mileage, and it looks as though the Toyota will fit the bill. Let’s hope.

As much as I’m looking forward to having my own place again and living close to work, I’m going to miss the frequent company of my best friend and her children. The kids (ages 2.5 yrs, 2.5 yrs, and 4 months)  have been a great distraction for me, and S keeps me laughing.  I don’t think my little dogs will miss her big dog very much, though.

It’s a mixed bag of feelings right now. I’m still overwhelmed, tired, frustrated and sad, but I’m also okay more often than not and a bit better than okay sometimes. I’m seeing my therapist twice a week for the time being. I truly think I’d be doing much much better if I hadn’t lost my cats. The sadness over losing them, though, pervades everything.

I’m looking forward to having a new mattress set, which is something I shopped for last fall before I turned 30, but never bought. I know what I want and where I’m going to get it, and I’ll buy it tonight and have it delivered on Saturday.

I have been so completely touched and humbled by the generosity of my friends and family, as well as that of strangers. I suppose that until you’ve been on the receiving end of “disaster relief,” it’s hard to understand how much it means, and how much it’s needed. If nothing else, I’m thoroughly convinced now that, in general, people are pretty good.

Anyway, I guess to make a long story short – I’m hanging in. I know it will continue to get better, or at least I hope it will, but it’s not a quick process.