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Your Mr. Spock sounds like a truly exceptional kitty. It sucks to lose such a close companion. Sounds like he was a total badass.

We lost ours a couple of years ago - I still miss her. Kind thoughts to you!

That's rough. Rellekh and I just got a 50 lbs bundle of love a couple months ago. She is currently sitting at my feet trying to encourage me to go outside. We've barely gotten to know her but I can already sense the void that would be left in her absence. I'm always amazed at how much a pet can fill your life with joy. Your cat sounds awesome and I don't envy the sadness you must be feeling now. One day at a time. I think I'll go outside now.

I have been here. While the details are different, I know the story well.

Ours was a rescue, "forced" upon us by the wife of my mother's employer. "Oh, just let me bring him by and if you don't like him I'll take him back home!" He came with food, and within five minutes of being set loose in the house, had vanished and hidden behind a bookshelf. And that, was that.

In his past life, he was most assuredly a lawyer or a banker, for he'd become used to a certain lifestyle, and being a cat was not conducive to continuing said lifestyle. He was temperamental and proud. Meal times were carved in stone, and heaven help you if you passed through the kitchen and his food was not prepared. You'd be knocked over. Cats and coffee don't agree, so he settled for milk or half and half. Shrimp, bacon, and eggs were the pinnacle of fine dining. He knew when they were available and would glare until he got some. And just like a former human of his importance and lifestyle, he was quite rotund. This doesn't mean for a second he ever tried to be anything other than a looker. The grey and white fur was a perfect representation of the suit he died in. He had to be brushed daily, but pay extra attention to his head. He was cultured and had distinctive taste in music. If he enjoyed it, he'd saunter into the room, sprawl out and relax. If he hated it, he'd walk back out.

As with all cats, however, he was defective in all the best ways. Something long ago must have broken loose in his head, because I've never heard a louder, or more rattling, purr. Brushing his head too long would reward you with a droolfest. If he felt playful, he'd flop over, roll onto his back, and kick at his own chin. And the butt pats... Head to ground, butt in the air, purring, talking, and drooling.

What I will forever remember though, are his headbutts. If you were family and walked in the back door, he'd leap onto the dryer, cross the washing machine, and meow insistently in your face until you leaned down enough for him to headbutt you.

16 long years he stayed with us. Never the nicest cat. Never a lap kitty. But always a buddy. The last two took their toll in painful, visible ways. He dramatically lost all his weight. He'd seemingly have moments of confusion at times, forgetting where his litter box was, or unable to find people in the house. He'd have trouble keeping meals down.

The end was sudden. We took a weeklong vacation, and when we came home, he was lethargic and the thinnest we'd ever seen him. I think our departure threw him for a loop. Over the next week, he barely ate, he barely had the strength to move. It was painful to watch, and more painful still to make the decision to ease his passage. He went down swinging, ever the fighter, and got a good swipe at the vet.

Losing my Sam was devastating. I know the feelings well. It still hurts, but there's a happy ending I'm sure you'll one day find as well.

Less than a year later, my fiance sends me a series of text messages. There was a cat that was hanging around dispatch. He was very friendly. She sent pictures. He was adorable. Unfortunately, her boss had made the decision he had to "go". We didn't know what that meant, but it couldn't be good, so I told her to bring him home. And so in the middle of the night, she engineered his kidnapping.

Jasper is sitting beside me now. Jasper is almost never NOT sitting beside me. My wife may have rescued him, but he clings to me. He follows me everywhere. He's the perfect lap kitty. He's a clumsy fool. He's the single most vocal, talkative cat I've ever known. He's a ragdoll and his coat is the bushiest, silkiest, softest thing in the world, and I defy you to tell me otherwise.

I think Jasper knows I saved him, and that's why he sticks so closely to me. But I can never quite shake the feeling that Jasper is more than he appears. That maybe, just maybe, Sam came back as Jasper. And that maybe, just maybe, while he's pissed he came back, again, as a cat, he's overjoyed he found not just someone he knew in my wife, but he made his way back to his family.

This is a long winded way of saying, you'll never forget, but with time it'll get better.

Sorry for your loss man. I know how it feels. :(
Sending lots of love your way.

Alt Title: The Cat Drug

It was a cold night. The first one in many years time. Too quiet. There was no other heart beat, nor breath, nor the warmth of my friend. ;_; If It wasn't for exhaustion from my deep sadness, I might not have slept at all.

Life (or something of it) is cruel, through not due to any purpose in cruelty. It's all just a side effect of being a work in progress, or at least as far as I can tell anyway. Be that as it may, it seems a little comfort at the entropy my heart has seemingly experienced in the last 27 and 1 half hours. I've realized in these 27 and 1 half hours since my thoughts of possibility became cold-hard-truth, that my hearts angst has been fueled by memory of how it was even 51 and 1 half hours ago when all was well and happy. When I did not know "today" would be the last day. I feel very much as is described from someone coming cold turkey clean from an addiction of an opiate or nicotine. I'm quite suddenly relearning to live again without. How to walk, talk, eat breakfast, and move 'bout in the daily activity without the added benefit of company Mr.Spock provided by just being alive and happy. The routine of feeding him, and his symphony of sound he would make in till I placed food into his reach. The little sound he would make every time I turned on his heater for him, which I always interpreted as, "Thank you"; or even when he would jump to my bed and I would turn him into a cat burrito with the top sheet. I could do as needed for this cat as I saw fit, and Mr. Spock would just roll with it best he could. Rarely if ever made much of a fuss - Just - Ok I guess this is my life now. Lill' fur ball. ;_;

It seems an odd paradox. I'm overjoyed to cherish these memories made, yet it is these memories that are bringing such despair. I'm remembering my last hit of simple effortless joy, and I want another hit. There is no more. There is no more. There is no more. ;_; That chapter is done.

That's not to say there will never again be more, as there will be very likely be more in some form. Such an idea feels so distant right now, through - when I can feel anything at all. At this point I *think* the edge is gone, and now all I have is the raw blunt of sadness. While more in metaphor, I think I'm able to taste again, so there is progress being made in this noggin of mine.
I have never before experienced such an intensity of raw sadness like this. It's not only in my eyes, but my throat, my heart, and my hands. And it's not like I've never experienced death before, I've both seen and known of it more times than I would like to recognize. I've been the strength in the room, the one person who didn't cry just so that others could do so on my shoulder with a hug, and I've also left the room, as I couldn't take watching the slow twitchy phase of the body dying. Yet for these moments, those people who have passed don't really feel dead to me, as they and their lessons are a part of me. As long as I live they are not yet dead, just in a smaller amount in another form.

With Mr.Spock through, it seems at this moment all I have is the aforementioned memory, and I think that makes it worse. That's not to say I never learned anything through experience thanks to the littl' fur ball, shoot, even this here is something to learn from. Yet it feels more like external skills learned, instead of a part of my cat now being part of me. I'll see if that changes with time through. I hope so, I need to make something out of this madness so I can fill the hole that has been left in my heart.;;;_;;;

So, as the title says (Alright Mods. Lock Requested.), I've requested this locked. I've got to keep some of my guts in me after all, if I am to move forward, and ya'll have done enough as it is. This LONG hull - which I expect will be the rest of my life right now with how I feel, is my weight to carry now. I either get stronger with it - or I die, and I ain't dien' yet if I can have may say about it.

With all that said, and this post to be locked, I thank you DBO for letting me share with you something so Un-Destiny related. Something so pure. Sharing with you my cat-who-was-never-a-cat who sheared way his failing mortal coil. If I'm weirder than usual, or whatever - well - you'll know why. If you still want to send a message do it through Xbox Live. If you are Playstation, well - I guess you will have to find someone who is on Xbox here at DBO and have them relay it I suppose.

I'll be around, I guess.

Thanks All <3