Tears for a dead cat

My little old friend died today. The cat living at my parents. He was sick a bit more lately, his health went up and down. Now he was a 17,5 year old cat, so not the youngest anymore, but he was really one of a kind. One with an instruction book. He always needed to be around with people. With all his own specific manners, demands, wishes, behaviour. Often when I would be home, he would hang with his full body on one of my arms, sitting there as a king being carried around. I never understood how that could be comfortable, but appearantly it was for him.

Since last weekend he didn’t eat anymore and he lost quite some weight.  I went to the vet twice. The first time we thought it was a throat infection he had before and that would explain the not eating too, but after 2 days it got worse. So I went back with the cat. He had to stay at the vet for tests and infusion therapy. I was supposed to call this afternoon, but this morning the vet already called me. I knew enough.

He was more sick than we thought, liver, kidneys, and in the end heart failure. He passed away in his sleep and that is good, but I still feel bad about letting him there. Though it was the only chance of survival, or not being in pain.

This afternoon I went to pick him up, because we will bury him in the garden, next to the other animals. I cried in the car. I cried at the vet. I cried on the way back. I am not really a person who cries a lot usually, but lately I don’t know what is happening to me, but I cry. Also in front of other persons. I cried at my previous job. I cried when I put my love at the train for a long trip. And now I cry for the cat.

There’s nothing wrong with that. Poor thing. It’s so quiet in the house now. No more meows, no more sitting on laps, no more screaming in the mornings, no more demands of food, attention, no more. Like always, I find death so weird. Really weird.

 

Advertisements

Doomed to live

Some time ago, one of my friends recommended this series on Netflix to me – Gomorra: La serie – an Italian crime drama series. Thanks to watching this series, I ‘discovered’ this music by this band Mokadelic.  Especially one of their songs is one that kind of resonated with me : Doomed to live.

Doomed to live. That’s exactly how I feel sometimes.

I don’t seem good enough to make a decent life. I’m not bad enough to have a very miserable life. I’m not even good or bad enough to be in between. I’m not good enough to make it in this world and keep things spinning, and not bad enough to be really sick or disfunctioning or whatever you call it.

I’m not even in the middle. Somewhere that falls everywhere in between.
I didn’t choose this. I didn’t choose life. Nor did I choose death.

I am just stuck, and doomed to live. Because I’m here. Because I’m there.

That’s what it is. Doomed to live.

Overwhelming sadness

Brick by brick. It falls apart. Brick by brick. Falls apart.

Repairing.

bricks

I did not draw for a long time. But what I drew, long ago, seems to be still accurate.

Maybe I never changed. Maybe I didn’t make any progress for a long, long time.

Maybe I never made any progress, and all I seem to do, is picking up the pieces that have been falling apart, pick them up together, rebuild it, and then the same story continues.

It falls apart. I repair it. It falls apart. I pick it up. It falls apart. And so on.

When the sun goes down

sdc15664

Sometimes,
or maybe just once,
all the colors of the world dissapear,
and you sink in to the deep
where there is no light

You sit on the bottom of the cave
and can’t fall deeper,
but can’t climb – you’re completely stuck

I don’t know what is worse,
but all I know is
that even if you’re on the bottom of the cave

and when the sun goes down
it does come up again
even if you can not bear the light.

Not everything is possible

foto-4renn

Outside the window,
I see fog, the traffic, the sky
trees saying goodbye to their leaves
they turned from green to yellow to leafless
but there is no rain

A deep sigh, it’s my own, and I don’t even hear
Staring to the outside world,
I’m a statue on my own couch
Frozen, where silence remains

After all
Sometimes the world is just living its life
no matter if you want to be part of it
it plays its game, dead or alive.