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RIP Vash, 200X - 2017
7 years ago
It's been hard working myself up to write this journal. Those of you who follow me on Twitter likely know already, but I thought it was time to finally, officially, share it here. Vash, my feline partner, inspiration, emotional rock and illustrative muse, passed away earlier in the week.
I hadn't been expecting it-- at least not nearly this soon or this suddenly. I brought her home for the holidays to take care of and have what I assumed would be a basic check-in with her proper vet in town, the same man who'd seen her as a wee feral baby and helped me navigate the months long struggle of her chronic IBS. I brought her in at 3 pm on the 27th expecting some chatter on our next steps. Dr. Chip felt her over and immediately noticed that her left kidney felt enlarged. Despite some worry, he drew blood and told me to take her home for an hour or two while results were processed. He'd call me back as soon as they got her numbers, he said.
I got the call around 5:15. Long story short, she was going into renal failure hard and fast. The toxins in her blood were already at dangerous levels indicative of seizure territory and it was not reversible. In all likelihood, he said, the IBS was some form of lymphoma-- just like my previous cat Peter-- and it had finally spread to her kidneys. I broke down during the call but asked if I could bring her in before closing. About half an hour later, I held her in my lap, hiding her face in my sleeve while he gave her the anesthetic, and cradled her face on the table when they pushed the shot. She went silently in a few seconds while I told her how much I loved her and what a wonderful girl she was and cried. I came home with an empty crate and a lot of devastation I am still working through to process.
Vash was my soul cat. There will never be another like her. Many of you saw her when I'd stream my illustrations; she'd usually hang out next to me on her cat tree and do her level best to "help" me work. She was my nigh-constant companion for over 13 years.
I... also didn't make it very long surviving with a lack of feline love in my life, either. Waking up every day to an empty room was putting me in the darkest place I think I've ever been. I hadn't lacked at least a single cat in my life since third grade, as a wee young thing, and the void hurt too badly to bear. Dr. Chip had mentioned-- and I was a Certifiable Mess at the time with very patchy recall-- that the clinic was housing a little stray girl who came in with kittens some weeks back, and needed a friend. I told myself that maybe when I picked up Vash's remains in a couple of weeks, I'd see her, but yesterday something pushed me to try and make it in before closing time at noon (being Saturday) just for a look at her.
She didn't have a name. She was just the little clinic cat as far as I knew. All of her kittens had been adopted out already and she was the only one left. She was tiny, and still very young, maybe two years at most. The tech said she'd been a great mom despite this. She'd just been spayed the day before, so the brown tabby spots on her belly were all shaved to bare skin. Her tail wasn't even half length, looked a bit scraggly, and had a 90 degree downward kink at the base no one seemed to have a clue as to the origins of. Some of her whiskers were broken off. They let me hang out in one of the unused checkup rooms with her about 30 minutes before closing.
We both needed a friend and she was so heartbreakingly sweet. My parents already knew I probably wasn't going to make it for long with nothing. I asked the tech what I'd have to do if I was interested in potentially adopting her, said tech disappeared, and came back a few minutes later with a rabies tag labeled Momma Cat in sharpie on the back and a zeroed out discharge paper with her spay information. "We'll have her transferred to your name in the database," she said, "just bring her back in 10-12 days so we can get her stitches out."
On the way home, with this little mess in my backseat carrier, I debated on names, and settled for Knock. It seemed fitting for a lot of reasons. She's been luxuriating on my down comforter all day, and slept with me last night. She is not Vash. She will never be Vash. I do not want her to be Vash or even feel like attempted replacement. But... it is nice, at least, not coming home to total emptiness. As I type this, she is curled up on my blankets dozing. She is a new friend, and companion for what I hope will be the next couple of decades. In time, I'll inevitably share more of her.
2017 was a rough year. Tonight, we will bury that tangle of chaos, grief, flickered hopes and struggle behind us. 2018 will be a better year, because it owes us for its shitty older brother big time.
Once the dust of my grief has settled a little more, I promise I will be returning to work. Thank you for all of your patience, your support, and your kindness. Tell the ones you love that will love them and cherish the time you have together.
-A Wild Hanmonster
I hadn't been expecting it-- at least not nearly this soon or this suddenly. I brought her home for the holidays to take care of and have what I assumed would be a basic check-in with her proper vet in town, the same man who'd seen her as a wee feral baby and helped me navigate the months long struggle of her chronic IBS. I brought her in at 3 pm on the 27th expecting some chatter on our next steps. Dr. Chip felt her over and immediately noticed that her left kidney felt enlarged. Despite some worry, he drew blood and told me to take her home for an hour or two while results were processed. He'd call me back as soon as they got her numbers, he said.
I got the call around 5:15. Long story short, she was going into renal failure hard and fast. The toxins in her blood were already at dangerous levels indicative of seizure territory and it was not reversible. In all likelihood, he said, the IBS was some form of lymphoma-- just like my previous cat Peter-- and it had finally spread to her kidneys. I broke down during the call but asked if I could bring her in before closing. About half an hour later, I held her in my lap, hiding her face in my sleeve while he gave her the anesthetic, and cradled her face on the table when they pushed the shot. She went silently in a few seconds while I told her how much I loved her and what a wonderful girl she was and cried. I came home with an empty crate and a lot of devastation I am still working through to process.
Vash was my soul cat. There will never be another like her. Many of you saw her when I'd stream my illustrations; she'd usually hang out next to me on her cat tree and do her level best to "help" me work. She was my nigh-constant companion for over 13 years.
I... also didn't make it very long surviving with a lack of feline love in my life, either. Waking up every day to an empty room was putting me in the darkest place I think I've ever been. I hadn't lacked at least a single cat in my life since third grade, as a wee young thing, and the void hurt too badly to bear. Dr. Chip had mentioned-- and I was a Certifiable Mess at the time with very patchy recall-- that the clinic was housing a little stray girl who came in with kittens some weeks back, and needed a friend. I told myself that maybe when I picked up Vash's remains in a couple of weeks, I'd see her, but yesterday something pushed me to try and make it in before closing time at noon (being Saturday) just for a look at her.
She didn't have a name. She was just the little clinic cat as far as I knew. All of her kittens had been adopted out already and she was the only one left. She was tiny, and still very young, maybe two years at most. The tech said she'd been a great mom despite this. She'd just been spayed the day before, so the brown tabby spots on her belly were all shaved to bare skin. Her tail wasn't even half length, looked a bit scraggly, and had a 90 degree downward kink at the base no one seemed to have a clue as to the origins of. Some of her whiskers were broken off. They let me hang out in one of the unused checkup rooms with her about 30 minutes before closing.
We both needed a friend and she was so heartbreakingly sweet. My parents already knew I probably wasn't going to make it for long with nothing. I asked the tech what I'd have to do if I was interested in potentially adopting her, said tech disappeared, and came back a few minutes later with a rabies tag labeled Momma Cat in sharpie on the back and a zeroed out discharge paper with her spay information. "We'll have her transferred to your name in the database," she said, "just bring her back in 10-12 days so we can get her stitches out."
On the way home, with this little mess in my backseat carrier, I debated on names, and settled for Knock. It seemed fitting for a lot of reasons. She's been luxuriating on my down comforter all day, and slept with me last night. She is not Vash. She will never be Vash. I do not want her to be Vash or even feel like attempted replacement. But... it is nice, at least, not coming home to total emptiness. As I type this, she is curled up on my blankets dozing. She is a new friend, and companion for what I hope will be the next couple of decades. In time, I'll inevitably share more of her.
2017 was a rough year. Tonight, we will bury that tangle of chaos, grief, flickered hopes and struggle behind us. 2018 will be a better year, because it owes us for its shitty older brother big time.
Once the dust of my grief has settled a little more, I promise I will be returning to work. Thank you for all of your patience, your support, and your kindness. Tell the ones you love that will love them and cherish the time you have together.
-A Wild Hanmonster
As someone in the vetmed field, I stand with you in your grief. Take all the time you need.
But good luck to you and your new kitty, I hope she gets settled in well!!
My most sincere condolences, Han.
To a poor and lonely stray, I’d give my happy home; my bowl and cozy bed, soft pillow and all my toys;
the lap, which I loved so much; the hand that stroked my fur; and the sweet voice that spoke my name.
I’d will to the sad, scared, shelter dog the place I had in my human’s loving heart, of which there seemed no bounds.
So, when I die, please do not say, “I will never have a pet again, for the loss and the pain is more than I can stand. ”Instead, go find an unloved dog, one whose life has held no joy or hope, and give my place to him.
This is the only thing I can give…The love I left behind. – Author Unknown
This poem always helped me. I hope it can help you too.
Vash loves you lots, and I’m sure she is still watching over you. I’m keeping all of you in my thoughts. ❤️
Good luck to you and your new cat. I hope things will go well for you in the future.
You gave Vash a happy life and this is the best you could ever do. Something that you will give Knock as well in the upcoming years.
If all pets were as lucky.
I had to put my own fuzzy son down this year, in early November.
He was also named Vash! My precious son of 16 years. Even if sometimes we felt Knives was a better name with how much of a jerk he could be, everyone loved him or hearing stories about him.
He was a survivor. Dealt with cancer twice. Bladder stones. A couple bad eye infections. He took it in stride. Even his last month, when he was diagnosed with a bit of pancreatitis(we were worried about his kidneys at first) and megacolon, he took it well. He told us it was time to say goodbye in the end though. And it hit me so much worse than I thought possible.
I still have his 'sisters'. Another cat and a dog. But I was an emotional disaster for most of November.
I know it's difficult now, but I hope you have a few photos of the good times to look back on.
I know not everyone likes it, but I am usually the same way. I needed a new pupper when I lost my baby girl 3 years ago. Like you said, the important thing is remembering, "This is not Vash". And making new memories with a new family member, not comparing like some people will.
It's difficult knowing how little time we can have with them.... but they impact our lives so much more than we realize.
Take the time you need to heal and to bond with Knock.
Having had many cats, they're all different, the bonds you form with them are different, and it always hurts in its own way when you lose them. I'm very glad you've found a new fuzzy companion so soon, I hope the new bond you form helps to fill the void and grows into something special on its own.
Im tearing up here as well.
a drink to both of you
*virtual hug* I know Knock will give you all the love, and that doesn't replace Vash, but they will be around whenever you need them.
We know that Knock will have a warm, loving home this year, and you'll have a companion to share your life and love with.
Take all the time you need to grieve, but also don't forget all the good times!
Here's to a better 2018.
Hold and cherish those memories that you shared,Vash will forever be with you and in your
Take all the time you need, take care of yourself and I wish you and Knock all the best and to a happy 2018
R.I.P. Vash
I wish you the best going into this new year!!! <3
with a beautiful end.
And I'm glad to hear that you found another friend to love and take care of. It's the circle of life, and end is a new beginning. I wish you both a lot of happy times together!
And my 2017 was also a pretty bad year. But finally things start to look well for me, and I wish you the same. May 2018 be a great year for us all! :)
Our lifes are sad without our fluffy and moral companions. Take it easy and I hope you find comfort in your new feline friend, and who knows, she might be a good art companion too!