… continued from R.I.P Mittens …
When those two kittens came along I was pretty sure that me and the female would get along better than, I with the male. I never had a male cat. My mom let me keep both of them; it would be the beginning of a long journey.
A journey, I was excited and nervous for the first couple of months. Knowing my little bundle of joys, Squirty and Cuddles were depending on me. I was nervous for they were my babies that I would train, where as my mom, trained Mittens. Depending on my techniques and how I went about it; would eventually equal the cats they would become some day. It put a lot of pressure on me since I was bringing up not just one, but two.
By the time I was old even to remember her, Mittens was already grown up enough for me not to have to expect things from her. She would just act upon instincts. She as also affectionate. This may have been why I found having Squirty so hard, I had to teach him, I never really expected that. And when I was sad, I would expect him to fill the gaps Mittens left open. I had to start over with him from scratch. The hard thing was I didn't know how, I didn't have mother instincts at 16 and I never had a male cat so I was really blind sighted to the situation. But I think in the end, it helped me with my mom during her time in need.
Cuddles was the good one where as, Squirtness, was my little bad boy, causing problems. I wasn’t the tidiest person being a teen but I was very much into making sure there was no bacteria anywhere.
If you ever popped by my house and Squirt was using his litter box and wondered why he would stay in the litter box for about 15 to 20 minutes after had gone was when he was younger, he was traumatized by something I did to him. When he was a kitten, he would use the litter box and no cover whatever exited his body. He would then walk through it and want to come on my pillow tracking whatever he walked through onto my pillow. Being a teen, I was scared to get any in my hair and rush Squirt to the bathroom. He, back then, could fit in one hand. I put him in the sink and with warm water washed all his paws. Little did I know, he remembered this and never did it again.
I won’t lie, it was hard training him, I often wondered how people who have babies do roughly the same thing I was trying to accomplish. I’m not putting down bringing up kids. At the age of 16 and bringing up a kitten, I felt like a teen mother. I had never had that responsibility so I often wondered if I was doing everything right. From Mittens, I expected it since she already knew me inside and out. During the the hard times, I sometimes felt I didn’t like my Squirty, and once even hated him. Not because of who he was but of the lack of wisdom he had, because of my own frustration during training times. After a few months went by, and he started getting to know his name and what “no” meant it became easier. Being a teenager bringing up a couple of kittens was an interesting experience, there were things Squirty and I would do, we would test each other with. He would claw my nose in the morning to wake me up in his tender years. He learned real fast that’s not how you wake me up.
As time when on, Cuddles became very independent and was good at being good and needed no one or help she caught on quite fast. It was during this time that Squirt and I without realizing it developed a connection, during my constant focus on training him. Cuddles didn’t need me and Squirt did, I couldn’t help but feel the need to need him as well. It’s about that time I would fight and protect, my little man.
For those of you wondering, I called him “Squirt” that due to a phase I was going through where I would call everyone I knew Squirt. Having a kitten, I figured it would help me get out of that phase. Which it did. Little would I know, he would live up to it by not only marking his territory in the year to come but have several grandkids. As the years went on those are most of the where my memories were held with him. He knew when I was angry and when I meant business. He never messed around with me. He knew I would always defend him even if he was him at fault. As the year went on, other names were made, like Squirty (this is the most famous one) Squirtness, Sweety, baby, little one, my little man, and fur ball. Which he knew all of them quite well. Mister and “Furry Butt out of here”were his angry names for him, when I was mad at him.
Even though we weren’t related
He had weird fetishes. Like stealing my elastics and jewel. To be spiteful, chew on my earphones wires or anything that may be useful to me. He always amazed me on how intelligent he was but stupid he would pretend to be sometimes. How he would need to smell everything I ate whether I knew he would want a piece or not.
There were also fearful moments, when his eye got infected. After seeing many Vets telling me different stories I gave up on it. Some would go as far as telling me it was cancer. He then got very sick, I took him to a new Vet in which they gave him fluids, penicillin and some other drugs. Next couple of days his eye cleared up and he health was back to normal.
My favourite story would be the one where in the morning he would somehow get himself caught on those plastic PC reusable bags. All you saw, was this bag running down the hall, around my moms bed and all over. It was so funny, even though I feared something was wrong like he was choking.
He had this way about him that he had to announce when he would come in or when he felt he should wake me up. For nothing at all ,just for his own fun.
He would often be able to sit there, like a status and look like the furniture. It was scary cause he wouldn’t move like in the photo below. It wasn’t all fun and games, there are a few times he scared the crap out of me.
He would let me do almost anything to him, from hugging him to dressing him up. In the end, he ended up being the very cat that I would hope for. He even became affectionate and cuddly.
I will never forget the day he died. He was fine. Healthy and happy. At least, to the eye. After being up exceptionally late, we decided we would sleep in the next day. We woke up to Squirt walking in the room announcing his arrival as usual. The only thing that wasn’t normal was the way he meowed, as though in pain. A Vet once told me that cats’ conceal their pain, so the pain they are actually feeling is much worst when they start to vocalizing it. With the pain he was experiencing, he was also having trouble breathing and with that he was very scared. When I noticed something was wrong, I didn’t aid the situation as all I freaked out. If you couldn’t realized how scared he was when he was able to pull up enough air to vocalized it, you could see if in his eyes. Searching for a mode of transportation and contacting his Hospital, we were running out of time. We called a taxi and got him to the Vet. By the time the Vet was ready to see him, it was already way too late. The vet gave me the following opinions: get blood samples and x-rays or put him down. Because I not longer had the voice of reason, and was panicking, I could not think clearly. The Vet explained, by the time they get all the results, saving him would be out of the question, since he was already turning blue. My baby was dying a horrible death. I helped him to relax as best I could. I’m sure by the look in my eyes he knew what I had to do. I had to make the awfully, painful decision to put him down.
I want to thank my mom, for being the strong one for a change when I was weak. Helping me thru that whole day and the hours that have proceed it. I have no idea what would have changed had her constant, “Tara, calm down for Squirty’s sake so you can think clearly”, had not been there. To have her shoulder to cry on the remainder of that day and the days that had followed.
Throughout the day I cried, as expected, went through the “what ifs” and tried to think of ways that may make him still alive today. Regardless that it wouldn’t had changed a thing. I could barely get a sentence out all that day on the 25th of January, 2010. It was tough accepting the fact that he was alive this morning and dead now. That he had died just as shockingly as my Aunt Diane but a few week shy. All still happening on a Monday. It is way to close together for my comfort.
It’s amazing the routine I was in, I only noticed now that my baby is gone. I often find myself, looking for him, about to call him for something, see how he’s doing or move things around in fear he would get it and break it on me. The images of his final hours still hauntingly play in my head. How tough it is not seeing him make his grand entrance that he would make. Or when he would just come to snuggle with me for a while before we doze off for the night.
Still this journal once started as a celebration in October 2009 of having him for yet another year, his birthday, only to end up being his life story, leaving me behind, his mother, heartbroken and sad. Only to watch over me from above.
And yet this verse comes to mind helps me, something recited at my Aunt Diane’s Funeral, a few weeks ago:
1 Corinthians 13:4-7:
Love is patient, love is kind. it does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. it always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.
You’ll always have a piece of me. I love you, my baby, Squirty. I will miss you, My Little Man, my love.
R.I.P my Squirty
~In Loving Memory of Squirty~
October 31st, 1998 – January 25th, 2010
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