November 2000 Archives


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oO: you just say things to me sometimes that are, but I know its cause you are full of creamy goodness

DemonOrange: oh my...
DemonOrange: Okay I don't understand that but its sounds yummy
RaBiD spoO: yes, i want to break you open and taste your gooey middle
DemonOrange: Wow, I feel honored
RaBiD spoO: :-)

RIP Lucky

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It seems so stupid, it really does. That I feel this way because of a cat. And that's how I think people will think of it as. That I'm acting depressed because my kitty died.
But every time I sit, with nothing to distract me, I start to cry. My head hurts, and my eyes hurt, and my nose is stuffed. And I just keep seeing my lucky dieing in front of me. He was crying. It hurt him to die. He spasmed, and fought for breath. my lucky...

Name: Lucky Garfield Canter ^_^
Age: 13 years
Color: orange, as if my cat would be anything else!
Eyes: pale green

I got him for my fifth birthday. He was, so my mom says, the ugliest cat in the pound. She kept saying, get this one, or this one. but they were gray kittens and I'd had to gray kittens. One ran away the other crawled up my mother's muffler and when the car went on, well...
I wanted him. the orange, half grown city, with the cuts and missing fur. My mother claims it was because he was wearing a red collar. Maybe she's right, I don't really recall. But I remember he reached his paw out towards me through the bars.
We sat in the car, i with my kitten, and my mother suggested Lucky as him name, since he was DAMN lucky he got bought cause he was so ugly.

The first day he managed to get grease all over himself and got a bath. And he was, in a simple word, a brat. He fancied jumped on my brother's or my head and waging a miniature war. He caught two baby bunnies and delivered them, alive to the house. He always brought us mice.

Then we moved, and he came. He always slept on the top bunk with me. And I remember crying to him when my parents fought because my father was drunk. I remember praying for him to never die, and crying at the thought of him leaving me.
He liked to chase coco up and down the halls, at the worst time of night.

We moved again, and we had to part with many of our pets, but not lucky. He came. And he liked to knock over the garbage, and eat the meat that was defrosting on the counter.

Oh, and he couldn't resist a paper bag laying on the floor. He'd go inside and just sit there. Even up to this year, he did that.

And my mom brought him to my brother's nursery school for show and tell.

And when we moved, when my father was in jail, I wouldn't leave him. I help him so tightly in the car, afraid he would jump out the window. My lucky.

And then again we moved, and so many cats died at the house. But not my lucky. He was invincible. Once he was getting ready to vomit and I grabbed him, making a run for the door. And I fell, slid right on the tiles, onto my hip, but I think I managed to get him outside in time.

And when we went for walks he would follow us, hiding in the bushes, watching, but I always pretended I didn't see him, so he would think he was hot shit hiding like that.

And I'd read in the spring and summer, and he's sit in the grass beside me, and purr. His load purr, even when he was pissed he's purr, his tail whipping. As he got older, it made him drool. And he's lick my hands, clean my arms if I scratched him behind the ears or under the chin, he loved that. If he wanted food he's nip me, but it never really hurt.

Once the dogs up the road tried to kill him. i was washing dishes and I saw them come, I grabbed a wooden spoon (of all things) and cursing like a mad women ran out with suds on my arms and hands. he was up the tree by then, his tail really big and poofy. It ripped out some of his nails, but he was still okay.

Amanda called him grouchy or cranky old man. And he was like that, and old man. He always gave people dirty looks, but it was just a guise.

Then we moved again, to where I live now. And he slept with my brother for awhile now, because I had gotten Randy, and Lucky got fur everywhere. besides in the summer he would lay in one spot all day outside. Bryan took the jobs of feeding him, and giving him water.

He was the strangest cat, he drank out of the sink. You had to turn it on for him. I taught him that. I used to drink out of the sink too!
He became meaner, a royal pain, and unbearable at meal times. I snapped at him alot, but always apologized because It made me guilty.


Bryan would pick the clumps out of his fur, where it became matted, called them dingle berries, or something silly like that.

Dad used to pick on him, saying torture the kitty, Bryan to a kick out of it when he was younger. Never really hurt him, but the whole process of touching his ears (which he couldn't stand) got me to baby him and feed him meat.

He caught to baby squirrels once, and it was hell to get them away from him, he growled at me for stealing his meal. Brat

I awoke when lucky cried last night. He wanted to go out. It scared me, so i stayed in bed. I didn't know what it was at first. So my mother got up and put him out. He had vomited and used the bathroom in the bathtub (he had been doing that often as of late O.o) and I, unable to sleep, got up, feeling sick to my stomach. I went back to sleep at four. At seven my brother awoke me, and I really felt sick. He said, "Autumn you have to get up. I think lucky is dieing." I wailed "No" I believed him just like that, and began to cry.
My mother and Kevin had gone to work. I got up, went to my brother's room and knelt on the floor where lucky lay on the blanket, limp and glassy eyed. I kissed him, cried, and went to take a shower quickly.

Then returning Bryan had moved him, and we sat around him and touched him, kissed him, and spoke his name. Bryan turned on the space heater, and we moved lucky to the rocking chair. He seemed a bit more alert, and Bryan began to say. "H's gonna be okay. he was just out in the cold too long" and he sounded so sure I started to believe it, kneeling by my cat, looking into his half closed eyes. He was so limp, and he didn't mind when you touched his ears anymore.

Then I went to let out the dogs and Bryan was yelling. He had the cat dangling from his arms. He had been kicking and convulsing. We laid him on the floor, and he squirmed, crying out. I was moaning, afraid. He stilled, his mouth opened, chest moving so quickly with breath. It took about a half and hour or so after that, but my sense of time was warped. He twitched a lot, ached him back, and his breathing became more irregular. We thought he was trying to vomit a couple times, so Bryan lifted him and he just hung there, and nothing came out.
Me and my brother knelt across from each to her with lucky between, comforting him and turns, and whispering to him. He buckled again, crying out, and turned so his head which had been facing my left was now facing me. His tongue was lolling, but he still lived. he's stop breathing and there would be a tense moment when Bryan would ask me, is he breathing and I would say I don't think so. But then he's heave in a breath. And the times became more drawn out. Bryan was panicking. Shaking him, lifting his head when the breath did not come, and it did.
"He is dieing Bryan"
"no," he would moan.
"Just let him die,"

And then I was afraid for Dragon, so I told Bryan I was going to let him in quick. I ran to the front door. And when I returned Bryan had sealed himself in his room. he took the opportunity of my absence to go cry. I knelt by lucky and he was gone. I knelt by his head and moaned and sobbed, kissed his brow one last time, and stared into his wide relaxed pupils. Lucky had waited for us to go before giving up. He had been alive when we last sat by him. I pushed up his limbs against his chest, because I knew he would stiffen and it would be hard to bury him with his legs out so far. And I even tried to shut his eyes, but they wouldn't move, so I left them staring. I went to get a tissue and Bryan came out and asked if he was dead. And I said yes and curled his tail about him. Bryan cried openly, petting lucky. We lifted him together, after a time, onto a towel and drew it around him. I kept thinking he's like his face in the sun, and it was.
Bryan called our mother, and she talked to us. I broke down again. I told her, we watched him die and that he was crying.

Then we put him in a box, box, and shut the lid, and I placed it's weight in the garage as my mother said I should now until she could come home and put him in the earth.

I'm wearing that little red collar on my left wrist. I kept it all these years. And if I picked him for the collar, oh well, he was one of my closest friends, and has been with me since I can remember. I love you lucky. wait for me in heaven, or in another life, but please, just wait for me and I'll scratch you behind the ears, like I always did, and never can again in this lifetime.


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