Cathryn (formerly catslash) (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
remindmeofthe) wrote2005-06-09 08:43 pm
remindmeofthe) wrote2005-06-09 08:43 pm
(no subject)
When I was living at my dad's house last year, his cat had kittens. One of them in particular my sister kind of latched onto and convinced my dad to keep. It took her forever to come up with a name for him, though, since she only visited on the weekends. Hard to get to know a cat well enough to name it when you don't see it that often.
Meanwhile, I was unemployed and home most of the day, and I became very close with the kitten, whom I ended up calling Kit as a compromise between letting my sister keep naming rights and having something to call him. (She ended up naming him Joey. I like mine better.)
Kit was a bit of trouble at first; when he and his two siblings were weaned, the other two graduated to hard food immediately, so that was all Dad and I put out. What we didn't notice, though, was that Kit wasn't eating; since the other two were eating plenty, we assumed all three of them were eating. He tried awfully hard to get at our food during meals, and was voracious the few times their mother let them nurse, but we just didn't make a connection until he started peeing in the food dish. (Peeing in the food dish, by the way, is a huge hint that there is something very wrong with your cat.) Lucky for him, even we weren't that stupid, so we - by which I mean I, since I was the one home most of the day - put two and to together and began making little dishes of hard food soaked in warm water for him. He figured that out immediately and there was no problem with his diet after that, but I've always felt badly about how he went hungry because we just didn't see that he hadn't adjusted to eating hard food.
Anyway. Kit and I hung out a lot. He always ended up camped out on my shoulder. (Making your coffee with a kitten on your shoulder is a treat.) He loved me, I loved him, and when I ended up having to move out so I could start working again and regroup, it broke my heart to leave.
I've been back to visit my dad a couple times since, and I think Kit remembered me. He seemed happy to see me, anyway.
Which brings me to my point. I just found out from my mom that Kit was hit by a car and killed last weekend.
That's - pretty much all I've got. I hadn't gotten to see too much of Kit in the past year, and I'd let go and moved on, and the news is new enough that I haven't quite figured out where this registers on the scale of suck yet. This isn't the first cat we've lost, but this isn't really the kind of thing that's helped by experience.
Meanwhile, I was unemployed and home most of the day, and I became very close with the kitten, whom I ended up calling Kit as a compromise between letting my sister keep naming rights and having something to call him. (She ended up naming him Joey. I like mine better.)
Kit was a bit of trouble at first; when he and his two siblings were weaned, the other two graduated to hard food immediately, so that was all Dad and I put out. What we didn't notice, though, was that Kit wasn't eating; since the other two were eating plenty, we assumed all three of them were eating. He tried awfully hard to get at our food during meals, and was voracious the few times their mother let them nurse, but we just didn't make a connection until he started peeing in the food dish. (Peeing in the food dish, by the way, is a huge hint that there is something very wrong with your cat.) Lucky for him, even we weren't that stupid, so we - by which I mean I, since I was the one home most of the day - put two and to together and began making little dishes of hard food soaked in warm water for him. He figured that out immediately and there was no problem with his diet after that, but I've always felt badly about how he went hungry because we just didn't see that he hadn't adjusted to eating hard food.
Anyway. Kit and I hung out a lot. He always ended up camped out on my shoulder. (Making your coffee with a kitten on your shoulder is a treat.) He loved me, I loved him, and when I ended up having to move out so I could start working again and regroup, it broke my heart to leave.
I've been back to visit my dad a couple times since, and I think Kit remembered me. He seemed happy to see me, anyway.
Which brings me to my point. I just found out from my mom that Kit was hit by a car and killed last weekend.
That's - pretty much all I've got. I hadn't gotten to see too much of Kit in the past year, and I'd let go and moved on, and the news is new enough that I haven't quite figured out where this registers on the scale of suck yet. This isn't the first cat we've lost, but this isn't really the kind of thing that's helped by experience.
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