However, before I get into updating this blog with the terrors of post-uni life (or not, depending on my determination / whether I get distracted by that book / papercutting / other blog / search for pizza), I'd like to do a little post about my cat Monica.
I was ten when I managed to finally convince my parents to let us get a cat, and when we reached the animal rescue centre Monica was in a little cage with another cat. They were both gorgeous, but I decided I wanted a black cat more than a tabby, so I was over the moon when we were told that, as they were brother and sister and only five weeks old, they would prefer that they were given a home together. And so Ross and Monica came home with us (originally Jimmy and Kaiya, my recent discovery of Friends meant they absolutely had to be re-named).
It's twelve years later and Monica has become my little shadow and the most beautiful, deeply loyal and cuddily cat. She rarely leaves the garden, unlike Ross who likes to go prowling, and she prefers to curl up on my bed, and I don't think of her as a cat: she's very much a person. However, the last few months have been spent feeding her tablets as she became hyperthyroidic, something very common and long winded in cats, which is treatable with tablets, though it is somewhat traumatic for her and unpleasant for me to have to inflict on her twice a day. Despite the prospect of the tablets managing the symptoms of an overactive thyroid, she got very thin and weak and in the last week or two, much more distant and constantly panting, struggling to get very far without a break.
On Wednesday we took her to the vets, who arranged for us to come in the next day to have some blood taken from her and see if we could change the dosage she was being given. The trip to the vets itself left her extremely distressed, and on Thursday, after having blood taken she became so distressed that she had to be put in an oxygen tent in order to breathe as fluid had built up around her heart and lungs; we're not sure whether it was the side effects of the tablets or the hyperthyroidism that took it's toll on her heart, but it was agreed that her quality of life had obviously deteriorated massively.
I've never had to make such a heartbreaking decision and I think I'm going to hate myself for a while, but it was the best decision for her, and we brought her home and made a lovely little spot for her in the garden. The house feels entirely different without Monica, and it's only a couple of days later but I'm still struggling, and it's even harder seeing Ross looking for her.
I'm sure there are people out there who might think it's silly to be so utterly devastated by the loss of a pet, but I imagine they're heartless arses, so it's okay. Now, picture time. If you don't like it, sod off.