Thanksgiving... RIP

Three years ago on Thanksgiving evening I was in the ER having a miscarriage.  This Thanksgiving I lost a very special kitty... My little Flake.  He was so young, only 2.  I don't know the cause of his death and so I will always feel guilty, like I could have prevented it.  I probably could have prevented it somehow and that is what truly makes this so unbearable.  Since we're staying at someone else's house temporarily and we aren't allowed to have our pets inside, Flake and our other cats were/are in a few large animal cages in the garage.  Trust me, I feel guilty every second of my life about that fact, but it's only a temporary thing.  We'd never subjects our pets to a life in cages long-term.  We give each of them plenty of food and water every single day and nothing seemed to be wrong with Flake.  This was a huge shock to us, we have no idea what happened.  It doesn't get overly cold in the garage- at least not cold enough to die.  The outside cats that live around here are all still alive and healthy so I don't think the temperature had anything to do with it.  

I feel so guilty I hadn't held Flake in a week or two and now I'll never get to again.  And I just feel like we could have prevented his death by having a home.  I can't believe our "homelessness" has possibly caused one of our beloved kitties to die.  As if being without a home isn't already bad enough...  I knew we should have found better homes for our pets when we lost our home, but I thought they would be fine for a few short weeks until we got a new place.  I honestly felt that finding a new home for our pets was unnecessary and risky for them- why separate them from us and each other, the only people they've ever known, when we would have our own place so soon?  What if the new owners didn't like them- gave them to the SPCA (where many cats end up euthanized), lost them, abused them, or something?  Flake, for instance, couldn't have been safely rehomed.  He wasn't litter box trained very well despite our best efforts.  I often considered giving him away because I was tired of the pee, but I knew that giving him away would be too dangerous for him.  I know that people do not put up with cats who pee on things.  I've seen several family members, friends, and acquaintances get rid of their cats for that reason.  One of those people actually drove the cat to some random spot and just left it alongside the road.  People simply do not put up with cats who pee in inappropriate spots.  Period.  My fear with Flake was that he'd end up in the SPCA repeatedly (possible death), his new owner would put him outside where he would certainly not know how to survive (probable death), or his owner would find him a new owner (who would also get rid of him).  I didn't want Flake's health and safety at risk and I felt he was safer with us.  

We are only a week or so away from signing the lease for our new place- why did this have to happen NOW?  He only had to live in the garage for another week, 2 MAX!  He died alone and probably scared.  How can I ever forgive myself for not being with him to hold him during his final moments?  How can I ever forgive myself for what happened to him?  The death of a beloved pet is already bad enough without having so much guilt.  I hate this.

Flake was the most innocent cat.  He was the runt of his litter.  He was always confused and cautious.  When he was very young, still just a kitten, he spent most of his time chasing his tail.  He loved doing that, especially in the bathroom.  I'll never forget the time I crocheted him a sweater (see picture below) and put it on him.  He immediately fell over like he forgot how to stand, and ever since that day he never quite recovered his "balance".  Some days I thought he must only have half a brain.  He didn't know how to do anything by himself (I think he might have had a mental disability).  When we had a home he liked nothing more than to curl up next to me in bed all night and sleep with me.  Every night he would sit on top of the dresser beside the bed and stare at me until I picked him up and placed him on the bed.  Then he would lie down and sleep beside me until the next day when I got up.  If I didn't put him on the bed he spent a long time, at least an hour, working his way over to the bed cautiously, like he was afraid we'd punish him for it.  He wouldn't even lay down on his own- at least not without kneading the sheets for an hour or more.  I had to put him into a laying position if I wanted him to settle down.  Now I'll never have him curled up against me sleeping again, and during his final weeks he was deprived of the only pleasure he knew in life.  I wasn't able to provide him the warmth and comfort he cherished so much when he needed it the most.

Earlier my hubby said to me, to comfort me when I was crying, "I know you'll miss him so much."  and I told him- I'm not this upset because I miss him or because I will miss him in the future (but of course I do miss him).  It's not about me at all.  Screw how I feel about this- it's about how HE felt.  I can cope with being without him, but I can't cope with what HE had to go through.  I am this sad because he was so innocent and young and his death was so tragic and maybe preventable.  We didn't know it was coming so we couldn't have known to give him extra hugs and attention at the end.  Maybe he didn't know how much we loved him.  He didn't know why he was in the garage, he didn't know why he was sick (or whatever caused him to die), he didn't know why he couldn't sleep with me at night time, he just didn't understand.  We have no way to comfort him now or show him our love.  We can't take back the pain, suffering, and emotional trauma he must have endured.  The guilt and regret is just tremendous.  I desperately hope that pets go to heaven, and I hope even more that my Granny is up there in Heaven holding and comforting my little Flakie.  I hope he is happy.  I hope he is chasing his tail.  I hope he knows I love him.  I hope he can forgive us.  My hopes for him are endless.

I just don't know how much more I can take.  I'm trying to be strong with everything that's going on.  I somehow managed to cope through losing our home, but the death of a pet is just the last straw.

I know Thanksgiving is a special holiday and all, but I think I've had enough of it.  If anyone out there has a time machine, please, please, turn it back a few weeks and send me an e-mail warning me to take extra special care of Flake.

Please, everyone (everyone who's religious), pray for my kitty.  Pray that he knows I love him.  I refuse to believe that the soul of my innocent kitty just vanished when he died.  He has to be out there somewhere.  Please pray that he is happy and comfortable wherever he is.