Awww, Jane and TN. Thanks for sharing your stories. It has been harder for me to say goodbye to some animals that I have lost than people in my life. I currently have two cats, but had all sorts of animals growing up, because my mom likes to "rescue" and then neglect them, giving them basically just food and shelter and nothing else.
Not enough neglect to go around for her six kids, she needed to add to the mix.
********************TRIGGERS: all of these are about losing pets and VERY TRIGGERING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!***********************
My first experience with losing a pet was my childhood guinea pig, who was less than a year old. I think I was around six, but I can't be sure. I went to play at our neighbor's house and came home and he was gone. My mom said she had been vacuuming and he had a heart attack and died. She said she had put him in the trash outside our apartment building, because she thought it would be too hard for me to see him dead. I remember getting very angry and indignant that she had not let me "say goodbye." I think I demanded to be brought down to see him...I remember going down there, but not seeing him. I think maybe she "couldn't find him" or wouldn't let me? Thinking back on this story as an adult, it seems very suspicious. Why would a young, healthy guinea pig die from a heart attack? How would my mom have even noticed he had died if she was walking around the house vacuuming? Why would she hurry to throw him out before I got home? Why did she not let me see him? Just realized that this is probably one of my only memories of her from around the time of her breakdown (which I didn't know about until later). I am probably reading too much into it.
In second grade, my 2nd older sister's cat had kittens. She already lived with her father. My oldest sister's cat gave birth to my 2nd oldest sister's cat, so I had the grand-kitten of my oldest sister. She was a grey tabby, who ended up named Jessica, because my great-grandma accidentally stole the name I had wanted to use. We called her Jesse. She was sweetest cat. When she became an outdoor cat, everyone would walk their kids by our house to let them pet her. She was a hunter too, and regularly brought birds (not dead, just injured) to try to please me. She slept with me every night. When I went off to Stanford, I couldn't take her, but I would visit and see her on the weekends when I came to do laundry. During college, she got sick and needed medicine. My mom would forget to give it to her and she started to get the runs all the time. My little brother's father would get so sick of cleaning up after her that he would scream and throw her out of the house. I couldn't find anyone else to take my poor sick kitty. I was thinking of trying to hide her in my dorm room. One weekend when I visited, she was just gone. She had wandered off to die, I guess. It felt like reliving the childhood incident where a pet had just gone. I never got to say goodbye. I feel guilty that I don't love my current cats as much as I loved her. I'm glad she got to die free, though, not cooped up somewhere. I'm sure that made her happy.
The most recent loss (now a few years back) was my childhood dog, a mix of Australian Shepherd and Chow. Her name was Jaela (a name I invented after the sisters first initials, in scrambled order). She was only nine or 10 and somehow was riddled with cancer. My mom had to have her put to sleep. The oldest three sisters went and held her as they did it. It is the only time I have experienced the exact moment of death for anything I cared so deeply for. I can't write about it anymore...sorry, too triggered. I miss her so much. She was so smart, such a good dog, and deserved a much better home than we were able to give her.
