My Bug is gone and I'm heartbroken

I suppose I should apologize for being MIA for so long. I've even been slacking with Twitter updates. Honestly, I've been putting off writing this post.

If you have not already seen my last tweet, Chetter-Bug, my 16-year-old Himalayan, passed away on June 19. I'm still heartbroken over his death, but I had no choice. The vet believes he had a massive stroke. By the time we got him to the vet, both his retinas had detached. This is usually caused by high blood pressure due to kidney disease. Kidney disease was ruled out after Chet's bloodwork came back normal. His other chemistry, however, showed that his platelets were extremely low and his lymphocytes were high, which indicated there was some kind of cancer. Unfortunately, that was only secondary to the major neurological event that was affecting him. He could not move, purr, or even talk to me. His legs were held stiffly out with one back foot curled up, his front legs moving back and forth reflexively. There was no blood pressure in his back legs, indicating a clot somewhere. He had no awareness of his surroundings. I couldn't let him suffer like that because he was already gone, really. Uncle Wes found him behind, and almost under, his night stand-a place Chet has never slept in. We believe he went there to die, so I simply complied with his last wish. Signing the paper authorizing the euthanasia was very hard, but it was the right thing to do for Bug.

I'm sure you can guess that tears are flowing as I write this.

My Bug came to live with me in 1998, about two months after my Nana died. I needed someone to come home to because the house was empty for the first time in 15 years. Nana was home-bound, so she was always sitting on the couch when Uncle Wes and I got home from work. It was very disturbing to come home and see her seat empty. A co-worker walked into the office one day, saying he needed to find a home for his wife's Himalayan. My old girl, Sass, had passed away 10 months previously. At the time, I told friends I was going to wait for the right time to get another cat. It was perfect timing to get Chet. I was over feeling like I was replacing Sass, and at a place in my life where I needed the companionship of a pet. Chet provided that companionship for 12 years.

He had so much personality, even friends who did not like cats told me, "Chet is cool!" He would always meet me either at the door or just inside the kitchen when I got home, meowing as if to tell me about his day, and then follow me everywhere. I couldn't take a bath without his chocolate-colored front feet perched on the side of the tub, his chin resting on them, so that he could check on me. When he thought I'd been soaking long enough, he would meow at me to let me know. There was no shutting doors to keep him out; he'd simply sit outside and caterwaul until I cracked the door open to let him in. He could even tell before Kasey was alerted when I got sick. If I was too sick to get out of bed, Chet would stay with me the entire time. The only times he would leave was in the morning when Uncle Wes got up to get ready for work and at 8pm when he got fed. For some reason, Chet always followed Wessy to the basement in the mornings, but he would come right back to bed with me as soon as Wes left.

You may be asking why I call him "Bug" if I loved him so much. The answer is that Chet was a Himalayan, so he "talked." Alot. I couldn't open a can, or even an applesauce cup, without him thinking it was for him. He would start meowing until he either got some of the contents, or got to smell the lid and determined it wasn't anything that interested him. When I stood in front of the stove or sink in the kitchen, I couldn't step back without stepping on him. He used to bug me, so I started calling him Bug. It eventually combined with his actual name, Chet, to become "Chetter-Bug." I loved that damn cat. He may have taken 10 years off mine and Uncle Wes's lives with all the times we almost did facers onto the floor tripping over him, but he was a character and brightened our lives while he was with us.

This is where Chet always slept while I stitched. Luckily, and thankfully, he was never interested in playing with my floss. He did have a ribbon fetish, though. Ribbons were never safe from Chetter-Bug's teeth. My mom still laughs about the first Christmas after Nana died. It was also Chet's first Christmas with us. He didn't touch the tree, or Nana's doves that adorned it. He ignored the garland and ornaments on all the door frames in the living- and dining-rooms. But when I passed out all the presents that had curling ribbon decorating them, there were holes down their entire lengths. Mom had sent down all the presents for me to put under the tree and Chet had gone and chewed the ribbons on every single one of them. No paper was torn, but every present had Chet's little signature on it.

Someone said to me, after they heard the news, "Now it's time for another one." No. It's not. It never will be, because there was only one Chet.

I will always love you, Bug-a-Boo, and I will see you when I arrive at the Rainbow Bridge...

Chetter-Bug
March 3, 1994-June 19, 2010