Even though I had already guessed this would be the outcome I am very upset. I can't stop bursting into tears. I feel slightly stupid, but I can't help it. I burst into tears today in a restaurant because one of the Italians asked how she was.
I know some of you non-animal folk might not get it, but I've had puddy fifteen years, that's fifteen years of companionship. I've cried into puddy's fur over boyfriends, I've ranted to puddy about work/friends/family and puddy would cheep and purr and kneed in total agreement.
I told her today I'd look after her, after I'd read the results. She sat on my lap, with that stupid funnel on her head, and purred and cooed at me while I dribbled snot and tears on her. She has absolute faith in me. .
I got Puddy from a mad woman called Ginch. She came down to where I was working, with puddy in a restaurant sized mayonnaise bucket, with holes punched in the top for air. She asked me did I want a cat. I opened it up and there she was, a black and white ball of fuzz, only a few weeks old, scared senseless. It was love at first sight-that and I wasn't sure what Ginch would have done if I hadn't said yes.
When she was younger she used to stalk my friends when they came over to my old place, and Country Gay was pounced on on more than on ocassion. I used to roar laughing as he shrieked in terror. She never hurt him, but it was a great game for a while.
She's lived with me abroad and here, houses and apartments and never cared where we were as long as she knew I was with her. She has her first litter of kittens all those years ago in the shoe closet of my bedroom, I used to cart her to the vets back in the day in a record box, while she yowled the place down. She was thinner then and actually managed to get out through a hole in the corner of it one time.
Her favourite thing in the world is turkey. She is the only one that knows how to ask for food. The smaller of the cats has never mastered it, and the bigger of them doesn't really care if he gets fed or not. The small one usually waits with her while she does all the work, and then they run to feed bowl side by side like huskies once I've worked out what all the meowing and cheeping is over. I don't know what he's going to do without her since he only goes around in circles silently, expecting me to understand this means 'get the food woman' (I do get it, but I can ignore silent circles, Puddy would actually drive you nuts if you don't feed her on time)
I have to fucking travel tomorrow for work and I will be away all week, Etheline, who I give out and complain about so much is going to stay here and mind puddy and bring her to the vets next Friday to get her stitches out.
I think I've changed my mind about getting any more pets, including a French bulldog. Getting so unbearably attached to something that cannot live as long as me does not strike me as a good thing.
Anyhoo, sorry for the eulogy-esque piece. But some times it's just easier to write than to speak, and you lot can't see the state of me. Believe me it ain't pretty.
Have a good weekend y'all, catch you when I'm back.