my cat died

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The internet feels inherently tacky in a way that is hard to explain; any and all online memorialization seems somehow tasteless or tacky or weird to me. Unserious, maybe. There were a lot of memorial pages on Geocities, but after that era death online has been very marginalized. Pushed to the side. Sites and projects and tools and platforms don't take death into account in development, and there isn't much in the way of protocol or understanding regarding what happens to your virtual remains when you die.

My dead dad's Flickr account is still up, last active 2006. I wonder sometimes how many people have seen his pictures and assumed him to be alive. It seems somehow wrong that the internet is so full of things like that, these imprints left behind by people whose deaths aren't acknowledged. In the infinite repost churn of the internet, how many of the pictures were created by people who are now dead? How many of the people recorded are now dead? There is no way to tell from the account that he died; there's no difference online between a dead person and an alive person who has simply logged off. Some sites have a memorialization function, like Facebook, but many do not.

The churn of online is such that respect for the dead is no more present than respect for the living. It is an unusual difference in culture as compared to real life, I think. In real life, without the internet, someone selling pictures you took of your dead dog without your permission would be absurdly shockingly rude. Online, though, your pictures are not yours and your dead dog is not your dead dog. It is all just stuff.

The doge dog is dead. That is a photo of a dog, one who was precious to someone, who lived and was loved and died. Does that matter?

I don't know. It feels like there is an assumption of aliveness and perpetual aliveness baked into internet culture. It is uncomfortable to remember that any person you see in any photo, no matter how recent or lively, could be dead now. It feels odd. Things online are so simultaneously permanent yet ephemeral; whether something lasts forever or vanishes into the void is mostly a matter of luck.

When somebody dies, every scrap they left behind becomes precious. The incidental detritus of their life is now a finite resource, and you have to decide what pieces of them you can bear to lose forever. It is all just stuff, until someone dies and it becomes something else. A voicemail might be the only recording of their voice left, a grocery list the only piece of their handwriting, a scuff on the wall the last evidence they were ever there.
But it is different online. Storage is someone else's problem, and you aren't the one who decides what happens to your loved ones' digital remains.

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12.20. This morning he woke me up. Something between a dream and a hallucination, I suppose. A meow, his indignant meow, the one he gave me if I closed my door while he was on the other side. I thought I heard him breathe last night, a snuffly sleepy huff. For over a decade he slept on my bed, by my pillow, so I think this was inevitable. I am equally frightened I am losing my mind and desperate to get worse so I can keep him with me. I want him back more than anything, certainly more than I want to live without him.

I only cried a little bit today. I am a bit concerned that I am shutting down, or starting to. I don't have any appetite at all, and no interest in anything, and time is starting to slip away. This doesn't feel like healing. Just numbing.

I miss my cat. I miss my Seneca. My sweet baby boy, my perfect little man. I want him back. I can't believe he is really gone. I thought he'd be with me for another five years at least.

I don't want to talk any more. I don't want anything besides my cat back.

12.21. The sun has set on the shortest day; it is now the longest night. The turning point of the season. Tomorrow the day will be a little longer, and the next, and so on, as the sun comes creeping slowly back. Tonight it is dead-of-night dark as I write this at 5:30PM.

I have been sleeping with a light on since he died.

I kissed the box his ashes are in and patted it gently, as if he were there. How maudlin! I am embarrassed by my own grief, which is not making things any easier. I lie in bed staring vacantly at his empty pillow and his empty bed for long stretches of time, thinking very little.

I don't really see a point in having a website any more. It was just for fun, but nothing is fun now. I feel repulsed by everything that used to make me happy. Why bother with any of this stupid shit? I am the only person who looks at it anyway, and I hate it now. I just want my cat back.

Oh my darling, oh my darling, oh my darling clementine,
you are lost and gone forever,
oh my darling clementine

12.22. My baby boy is gone.
Today I got a condolence card from his vet. It looks like they passed it around so a lot of people signed it, which was sweet of them.
My therapist asked me to talk about what I miss about him and I cried trying to choke out the words. I am having two appointments a week for now, Mondays and Wednesdays.

I've shattered now, I'm spilling out
Upon this linoleum ground
I'm reeling in my brain again
Before it can get back to you
Oh, what am I supposed to do without you?

12.23. I sleep poorly. I am tolerating being alone a bit better. I got to pat Miss Calico today. I feel scared of loving any cat because I know I will lose them, and scared of touching them because I am worried I have some kind of curse. I miss my cat. I want to see my cat.

12.24
the other night dear
as i lay sleeping
i dreamed i held you in my arms
when i woke dear
i was mistaken
so i hung my head and cried

you are my sunshine, my only sunshine
you make me happy when skies are grey
youll never know dear how much i love you
please dont take my sunshine away

12.30
i saw a tissue box on his pillow out of the corner of my eye and thought it was him
i saw leia walking over and thought it was him
just for a second.
'thank god! there he is! it was just a bad dream!'' i thought. for a second.

i miss him so much. his bed doesnt smell like him any more already. i cant stand it
acid reflux. chest pain. slow and sluggish.

i cried yesterday but not today yet. i drove myself to stop n shop. i didnt kill myself.

12.31
his meow woke me up, but it was only in the dream
i cried so hard in therapy that i threw up in my mouth

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seneca died. my best friend, my baby, my life partner, my therapy cat. he died suddenly and painfully, while i was at a friends place hours away.

my freshman year at college, i found that while i was generally doing well i could not adjust to not having a cat with me. it was hard to sleep in the silence without a cats soft breathing or purring nearby. with my various mental illnesses - which were not at that time debilitating - i could have an emotional support animal with me in my dorm room.

i went to the pet store that partnered with a foster-based rescue - the rescue would bring in a handful of cats ready for adoption sometimes. most of our cats were adopted through that rescue.
i said i was looking for a calm and affectionate cat, one who would be good as a therapy animal. the volunteer suggested two. one i dont remember in the slightest. the other was a roundfaced orange fellow, and when i offered him my hand he sniffed it and then headbutted it and started purring immediately. i loved him instantly.

everyone who met him loved him. he was so handsome and so polite.

he didnt cry on car rides, and adjusted quickly to new places. after arriving at a new place the first thing he did was eat some food. comfortable anywhere as long as i was with him. in the car his carrier was always on my lap, my fingers poking through the door grate. all the cats id ever known threw massive tantrums as soon as a carrier was in sight. anr theyd scream all the way to the vet. seneca was quiet, though, and he could nap on car rides.

i was 18, nearly 19, when i adopted him over winter break, and now i am 30 and nearly 31.

he slept by my pillow almost every night.