Seanan McGuire (seanan_mcguire) wrote,
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What I am dealing with.

First, and somewhat amusingly, given my last post, reply amnesty is on for this entry. I will not respond to comments. I may not even read them. I don't know yet. Please do not email me or message me privately about the contents of this entry. I really need some space.

Second, I said yesterday that I was dealing with some shit. Here is the shit.

On the morning of Wednesday, July 23rd, I was with Carrie and Doc in Southern California, having spent the night at Doc's place preparatory to heading for San Diego Comic Con around noon. I was reading comics in the front room when my phone rang. I said something foul about the phone ringing, because I did not want to get up. I got up. It was my mother, who was also my designated cat sitter.

Something was very, very wrong with Lilly.

She was having seizures, foaming at the mouth, hissing, and biting. There was blood. Mom, knowing that none of this could mean anything good, asked for my permission to take her to the vet. "She may not come home" was not said; it didn't need to be. I gave my permission. There was nothing else I could do. I was very far away, and I couldn't possibly get home in time, and Lilly deserved better than to suffer for the amount of time it would have taken for me to catch a plane. I gave my permission. And then I hung up, and sat down on the bathroom floor, and sobbed until I wanted to be sick, because I wasn't there.

My mother contacted me again roughly three hours later to tell me that Lilly had lost all kidney function; that the vet had recommended euthanasia, as the collapse had been so abrupt and so complete; and that she had given permission. A lot of people gave permission that day. I thanked her. How could I do anything else? She was there for my girl when I couldn't be. She made sure that Lilly didn't suffer more than she needed to. So I thanked her, and I sat in the back of Doc's car and cried all the way to San Diego.

I think I got through the convention mostly because it didn't seem real. Lilly couldn't be dead; she had been there when I left, and she would be there when I got home. But when I got home, Lilly wasn't there. Lilly is never going to be here again. She's never going to lick my elbows or share my ice cream or burrow under my blankets. She's not hiding, or sleeping in a sunbeam somewhere. She's gone, and I wasn't home when it happened, and the thought of her dying without me with her makes me want to crawl into bed and never get out again.

Lilly was a great cat. All she wanted was to hang out with me, and be held, and be loved. I loved her so much. I hate me in the past for all the times I didn't hold her when she asked, all the times I was too busy to cuddle with her until she was done. I miss her so bad. I am still reeling.

Alice and Thomas are well, if confused. They help to blunt the pain a little. Not enough, but a little.

I miss my girl.
Tags: cats, depression, lilly
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