Well, its that time of year again.
The one I really can do without. I've just turned 33 and hey hey, what a surprise, i've done nothing to celebrate it.
I'm a bit of a headcase really. I tell people "don't bother", "don't worry about it, I don't really care about my birthday", then act all surprised when nothing happens! How dumb can one man be?
I get the yearly suicidal thoughts about this time as well, but they soon pass. Tomorrow is another day, no different from yesterday... its just today I have to get through. Will someone say those words to me today?
Monday 26 September 2011
Saturday 11 June 2011
Life goes on....?
An hour ago, whilst working on the ship, I heard that my cat had died.
A cat. Not a human, so many people would think "less important"....
He wasnt less of anything. He was larger than life. Im going to miss him so much.
See, I have a family, but I'll never have kids, so I guess my animals are my subsitute.
We decided to buy two cats in early 2003. My other half of the time picked "Florence", and I picked "Buster". Buster was my cat. Florence is also my cat now, but there was a link with Buster that I couldnt quite shake. HE was absolutely, the most loving animal I have ever known. Bar none.
I always knew that one day I would have to face this moment, but I always assumed that Florence would be the first to go. Shes the "outside" cat. He loved lounging. He'd sit on the back of the sofa all day, meyowing incessently at the birds outside, whilst not bothering to actually go outside to them.
He would roll over and let me stroke his belly. He would come up to me and nuzzle my hand, "give me more attention".... all the time.
I guess right now, hes at the vets, waiting for the autopsy.
Florence is by all accounts very quiet at the moment and unusually loving. Obviously she knows somethings wrong. Im at work and theres no way I can say "I need to go home, my cat died". What could I do anyway?
I just have all this stuff in me that I need to say to anyone, no-one, to myself. I need to write about how much I loved that cat, and how Im really struggling to keep composure right now. Yes, its all about me.
Im dreading going home. The emotional stuff comes in waves. I compose and settle down again. Then something reminds me hes no longer here and it starts all over again.
I guess the one small saving grace is that we know what happened to him. He didnt run away, he didnt get run over, he just died in the garden one evening, found the following morning. Theres "some" sort of closure.
I used to get angry with him when he ate his, then Florences food. Stupid really, hes a cat... a gutsy cat that always ate... But I loved how he used to join me on the bed in the evening, pester me for attention and love and settle down, the loudest purring, taking up half the bed...
Here I run out of words.
To my cat, Buster. I will really really really miss you fat kitty.
A cat. Not a human, so many people would think "less important"....
He wasnt less of anything. He was larger than life. Im going to miss him so much.
See, I have a family, but I'll never have kids, so I guess my animals are my subsitute.
We decided to buy two cats in early 2003. My other half of the time picked "Florence", and I picked "Buster". Buster was my cat. Florence is also my cat now, but there was a link with Buster that I couldnt quite shake. HE was absolutely, the most loving animal I have ever known. Bar none.
I always knew that one day I would have to face this moment, but I always assumed that Florence would be the first to go. Shes the "outside" cat. He loved lounging. He'd sit on the back of the sofa all day, meyowing incessently at the birds outside, whilst not bothering to actually go outside to them.
He would roll over and let me stroke his belly. He would come up to me and nuzzle my hand, "give me more attention".... all the time.
I guess right now, hes at the vets, waiting for the autopsy.
Florence is by all accounts very quiet at the moment and unusually loving. Obviously she knows somethings wrong. Im at work and theres no way I can say "I need to go home, my cat died". What could I do anyway?
I just have all this stuff in me that I need to say to anyone, no-one, to myself. I need to write about how much I loved that cat, and how Im really struggling to keep composure right now. Yes, its all about me.
Im dreading going home. The emotional stuff comes in waves. I compose and settle down again. Then something reminds me hes no longer here and it starts all over again.
I guess the one small saving grace is that we know what happened to him. He didnt run away, he didnt get run over, he just died in the garden one evening, found the following morning. Theres "some" sort of closure.
I used to get angry with him when he ate his, then Florences food. Stupid really, hes a cat... a gutsy cat that always ate... But I loved how he used to join me on the bed in the evening, pester me for attention and love and settle down, the loudest purring, taking up half the bed...
Here I run out of words.
To my cat, Buster. I will really really really miss you fat kitty.
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