On Sunday 8th June 2014, my world was changed forever, and for the worst in the short term at least: Felix, one of my two cats died, hit by a car short of his third birthday.
To say that I'm distraught or really in any control of my emotions at the minute just simply wouldn't do it justice. The only way I know how to truly express myself is to write it out, so here goes, I really can't promise it'll be easy reading, and I know that I'll be a mess throughout, but hopefully it'll have a theraputic quality too.
To give you a bit of a background on my furry pal, I first met him in late September 2011, as I observed him sitting calm and shy under a scratching post as his two mental brothers (the most mental of which I also took home: Scrambles) at the Newcastle Cat & Dog Shelter. I immediately knew I had to have him, so in the carry case he went, followed, after a prolonged battle with a handler and his towel, Scrambles.
As the two grew, I spent pretty much all of my time with them, thanks to working a late contract, often even on nightshift. I fondly remember I night spend on the sofa, with a cat under each arm inside of my dressing gown and sorely wish I had a picture. On a personal level, things got pretty rough as my relationship went off the tracks, I took solace and comfort in spending more time with my Chaps. When that relationship finally reached breaking point, I moved out and was allowed to take the cats with me (something which I have no words to express my gratitude for).
Hard months followed as my furry little family adapted over winter before moving back out into a new flat. Of course, a new flat simply meant a new excuse for Felix to hide from the unfamiliar...he disappeared next to my bed for two days, always in my sight, as Scrambles sniffed every little piece of the flat. Oddly, it was Scrambles' disappearance for five days (ever the escape artist) that brought Felix out of his shell, he began flouncing around and finally allowing my flatmate to at least get a sympathy pat after almost two months of trying. He huffed for a good few days on Scrambles' eventual return.
Now that he felt more comfortable with his surroundings, Felix began to show his character a little more. Always affectionate, even if he chose when to walk over to you, you were always greeted with a seriously nose-worryingly-hard headbutt if he got the chance. His favourite perch was on the bar around the kitchen, and I'd often make him chase me from one end to the other, ending in a heart-melting cat-hug, wherein he'd stand on his back legs, front paws on my chest and purr away with a look of sheer contentment on his face. Above all else, that is a photo I wish I'd taken successfully.
He claimed a spot on the sofa thanks to the donation of a white throw from my flatmate, and woe betide any Scrambles who dared sit on it without his prior consent. Felix was known to spend an age wrestling with that throw until it was in the precise location he thought it should hold. That's not to say he was a bully, for, despite his enormous and muscly frame, he was a softie, letting his brother beat him up on each and every occasion bar one, wherein Scrambles' insane life must have flashed before his eyes. But once outside, Felix was The Don, even notably squaring up to a cat twice his size on a neighbouring garage to claim the territory for his own.
Felix's favourite play toy was a laser pen, something which was regrettably on discovered a month or so before he died. No kidding, I could spend hours watching him chase that pesky red dot across the flat. His favourite treat was a catnip drop, so much so that I once came home to find him inexplicably sitting in a drawer where they were kept, despite the fact that said drawer was shut upon my exit. He was out of his tiny mind. Thankfully, I do have a lot of photos of Felix eating his treats, perched upon the fence at the bottom of my yard:
It was certainly not unheard of for Felix to be the first to dive onto the bed each morning either, and so many of my weekends were started with him splattered out on his back, head right next to mine and excitedly headbutting me with endless glee. He was, on a whole, much quieter than his brother, but every time a thunderstorm rolled in, you could guarantee you'd find Felix running in demented circles in the bath, trilling with every lashing of rain. But once things had calmed down once more, you'd have him curled up right next to you on the sofa before you were even aware the weather had changed again.
But now for the hardest part. My girlfriend and I had just returned from a five-day trip to London, arriving back at the flat at around 2:30 on Saturday morning. I was greeted by my Chaps with the usual friendliness, but one that was quickly replaced with the not exactly shocking nagging from the pair of them to be let outside and explore the nighttime. Without hesitation, I opened the window and let them out, not realising that would be the time I saw Felix as I'd ever want to remember him. Having spent the night away from the flat, I returned on Sunday afternoon and was told Felix hadn't come back since I let him out, which was very much unusual for him.
I needed to go to the ATM on the next street, and head out, but I was for some reason taken with the urge to have a quick search for Felix, something which I had never been compelled to do when either of them had been out for such a time. For the rest of my days I do not think I will ever be able to erase from my mind what I saw as I turned the corner to walk down the street adjacent to my flat. Just up ahead, next to the forecourt of the car wash on Shields Road, I saw a little furry body, lying beside the pavement, head facing me. It was Felix, but at the same time, it simply wasn't him any more. I ran towards him and more or less collapsed on the path beside him. There was my cat in body, but not as he ever had been since I'd known him.
I'll never forget the horror of lifting him from the ground and having to carry my friend's body back home, laying him in the bathroom, and feeling so lost that I simply did not know what do to with myself. The last I'd seen of him, he was off to do what he loved, and now, I was thrust into a world where he was gone. Some of you may know that I struggle with the idea of death: I fully understand it, but I simply cannot comprehend it. Eternity for me is a terrifying thought, and the realisation that Felix is never coming back sends me to stomach-churning despair.
Within two hours, I had found him, carried him home, then buried him in my parents garden. I still cannot comprehend the fact that I have buried my friend. Even in writing this, I've had to fight off despair and panic, and as I walk around my flat, I twitch and flail out thinking about him, as Felix is all that's on my mind, it just makes me want to pick him up...but I can't, and the fact I will never be able to again is heartbreaking.
Felix was more than a cat to me, he was a constant and loving companion throughout some of my darkest days. What I'd give to have him chase me through the kitchen, stand with his paws on my chest, chase a red dot, scratch at my door annoyingly early in the morning, or even just sat curled in a ball on my sofa... I have nothing I could want more. Right now I feel robbed of a relationship that should have lasted at least a decade longer. I feel unmitigated sorrow for how different my life seems to be without him, and just how much of a repercussion his passing will have on his brother. In the few days that have passed, I find myself followed by a shadow and unable to concentrate on almost any task without thinking of him and the truly horrendous moment I had to suffer through on Sunday afternoon. I go from sorrow to anger, anger to guilt (deserved or not), guilt to happy memories, but at the minute, those memories lead me straight back to sorrow, as I miss him all the more for those memories.
I'm so very glad I had that most loving of animals in my life, but I'm so bitter that it lasted for not quite three short years which seemed to fly past. I don't know if I'll ever be able to get used to referring to Felix as something which belongs in the past, he was supposed to be with me for years to come, until I'm older and somehow even balder. I even feel guilty attempting to enjoy my time since he passed, things seem hollow even as I make a bald joke... It's taken a sincere effort for me to allow Scrambles outside again after two days, and I'm nothing more than a panicked mess until the moment he returns.
Felix was there for me at all times, and was always prepared to headbutt you out of sadness. For now, I keep jumping in momentary forgetfulness whenever I see anything flash by my back door, and I stare out into the trees, just longing to see him come scampering over the hill into my yard, but I know that's never going to happen. It's probably the hardest anything has ever hit me, he was with me almost constantly for his short life, and he was my best friend. I want my cat back. I want my best friend back.
I'll always remember you Felix, even if I resent having to do it so early in our time together. I loved you so very dearly, and cannot even begin to describe how much it hurts that you're not here any more. I gave you the best life I could, and I think you enjoyed it; I hope I never let you down. If you disagree, feel free to come back and a I'll try again.
So long Felix, many, many more tears will be shed for you before I'm any where near healed again, but I'll cherish just how much joy and happiness you brought to my life. Scrambles and I miss you so much already.
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