Letters to Sammy: 30 Days of Endless Night

Dear Sammy,

It’s officially been thirty days since we lost you. An entire month. On one hand, it feels like an eternity. On the other, it feels like yesterday. In either case, it doesn’t feel all that great.

I’ve been doing some research as of late; I don’t know if it’s making me feel better or worse. Your reactions on that last Friday, how you just kept in your crate and wouldn’t move, that wasn’t like you. Did you know, Sammy? Did you have an idea that this was the last time you’d simply stay in your crate? Did you know that whatever was sickening you, that whatever you had, was terminal?  Because I read up on how dying cats react, how they seclude themselves from people.

That was what you were doing. You were keeping away from me.

Reading that broke my heart. I didn’t want you to suffer or feel pain. All I wanted was to help you fight. But I wonder if I wasn’t making things worse, putting you through all that treatment, syringe feeding you, shoving pills down your throat. I was trying to help. I really hope you understand that. I think you did, but you did let me know that you found it all irritating; I can still remember those short, frustrated sighs of yours. You didn’t fight me, you didn’t nip at me, you just sighed.

I also think I know what you had: you were part Siamese. Siamese cats are at a higher risk for developing cancer. Your genetics betrayed you, just like mine have tried to betray me.

It sucks, having your body decide that it wants you dead. Because you don’t want that. You didn’t ask for it. But it’s out of your control.

Again, if I had known, I would have done something. But I don’t know if it would have helped. I just wish that I could have done something different, maybe given you a better chance to fight this.

It’s still pretty warm and the humidity is ridiculous. I don’t like summer anymore; I can’t cook anything and walking makes me break out in a flop sweat. It’s bad, Sammy. I was never like this before. Remember when I enjoyed the heat and laughed at humidity? Well, I am not laughing now.

I can remember you and not burst into tears. That’s a bit of progress. Your dad seems to be getting better as well, but he still misses you. I think he’d give just about anything to have you swipe one of his sardines or take a mouthful of his tuna. He’d probably let you have the entire can, just so he could pet you again. I know I would.

Yours,

Silverwynde

P.S. It’s almost time for SDCC. I can’t say that I care right now.

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About Silverwynde

I'm a Transformers fan, Pokémon player, Brewers fan and all-out general nerd. I rescue abandoned Golett, collect as many Bumblebee decoys and figures as I can find and I've attended every BotCon since 1999. I'm also happily married to a fellow Transfan named Prime and we were both owned by a very intelligent half-Siamese cat, who crossed the Rainbow Bridge on June 16, 2018. We still miss him. But we're now the acting staff of a Maine Coon kitty named Lulu, who pretty much rules the house. Not that we're complaining about that.
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