There's no sunshine when he's gone

Ivan, the cat who started it all, died very unexpectedly Wednesday. We did not know he was sick until I came downstairs Weds. morning to find him lying in his box, looking "off".  I picked him up and he was limp with some yellow fluid around his mouth. My mom came to get us and rush us off to the vet, as I was too upset to drive safely and really needed to hold my baby.

His blood work was good and his heart was good, so it was tough to determine the cause of his obviously critical condition.  Our option at that point was to drive him to Madison for an ultrasound, which was not an option for me. He was in absolute agony, stressed, and I couldn't leave him like that for several more hours. My primary vet was not in, as he had been in the hospital the previous week and was still home recovering.

  They called him, though, and he volunteered to come in, and do surgery on Ivan. It was the best option for quickly figuring out what was going on and potentially repairing it. I will forever be grateful to him for coming in when he was feeling so poorly. I have serious trust issues and was falling apart over my baby, and I trust Dr. Mark implicitly. He is the only one who could have given me the comfort and assurance I needed to survive this without second guessing myself for the rest of my life. I'm fine with all the vets at the clinic, but he's been with me through so much for more than twenty years. I can count on one hand the number of people who I trust to that level. He's been with Ivan since the beginning, and even my grouchy Ivan trusted him and allowed him "touch privileges" which were accorded to very few people.

He had been given pain meds, so we had lots of time to snuggle and cuddle before the doctor arrived. I gave him hundreds of kisses on his little face (one of his favorite things since he was a kitten--he'd close his eyes and lean into the kisses; he even used to approach me and make a kiss noise, requesting his face kisses) and left him on the surgical table.

I had convinced myself that Dr. Nelson would repair him--after all he was healthy, with good blood work, and only turned 12 last month.  They quickly found the problem. Ivan had colon cancer, and one of the tumors had burst, leaving the colon wall open. There was nothing in the world that could be done to fix my little boy.  They did offer to bring him out of anesthetic, so we could say a final goodbye, but I couldn't even consider putting him through that terror, pain, and confusion, only to euthanize him after. While every fiber in my body ached for one more round of snuggles and kisses, it would have been supremely selfish.

I've loved Ivan since the day he was found newborn, abandoned in a driveway, on May 9, 2004.  He was my first cat, and the bond we shared was profound. Ivan always kept me in sight. Wherever I was, I could almost always count on finding Ivan somewhere within range--he may be hiding, but he was always close and watching. He had intense needs for cuddles, and if given the option, would be touching me 24 hours a day.  As long as he was touching me, he couldn't be happier.  He spent most of the rest of the time being grouchy and complaining. He loved his sisters and Mark and was extremely affectionate with them too.  Being the center of someone's universe is a huge responsibility and could be exhausting and even frustrating at times. It also means that he was a huge part of every second of my existence, and I'm absolutely lost with him. I look for him 100 times a day and am currently on my third day of a cry-induced migraine.

At this moment, life without him seems unfathomable. I will adjust eventually, but he's been my faithful shadow for 12 years, and I feel incredibly incomplete without him.

He always held my hand while he slept.