This heaviness inside my chest keeps waking me up. Keeps knocking me down. Where did I go wrong?
Oh My Dearest Rocky,
Please, forgive me for I have failed you as an owner.
A little over a week ago, I found myself sobbing to an article about an owner losing her beloved pet. What more, to admit that she had no better option than to euthanize her dog. "The emotional cost of keeping, then losing, a dog," a title that speaks loud for itself. It resonated with me because I have been going through a similar cycle of whether to continue to find treatments, or to let my cat be.
Growing up, I've always had a soft spot for animals, especially cats. My dad has always been kind to let us play with any stray cats and kittens roaming around our house, which eventually led us to keep some of them. And growing up with three brothers (now four & a sister), I insisted on naming the kittens we rescued after WWE's wrestlers whose name I couldn't even pronounce correctly at age 9. I had named them Stongkol (Stone Cold) and Rocky (The Rock). Rocky was a domestic long-haired cat with dark gray fur. He was my favorite. After we returned from our annual trip, Rocky went missing and I even accused my neighbor of kidnapping him because of the one visit to her place, and she jokingly told me about kidnapping my beautiful little Rocky when we're not home. Weeks passed and he was nowhere to be found. I was so devastated that it took me days to stop crying.
We had brought Stongkol with us when we moved into our new house. She was a three-colored cat, and just like her name, she was cold. Before her passing, she gave birth to 4 kittens whereby only 2 survived. We named them Kitty and Katty. The kittens were shortlived. I was still too young to know how to properly care for pets, so let's just say, we were pretty damn careless. Both of the kittens were run over by my cousins and in that moment, I thought maybe cats and I were just not meant to be.
11 years later, my mom sent a text on our group chat and asked if we would like to adopt a cat. I was so excited and immediately accepted the offer. He was delivered to us in a cage, grumpy and smelly. My uncle had told me that he was aggressive and that they didn't have the capability to take care of him anymore. They had named him 'Gary' then. Gary had been hopping from one home to another. He was initially adopted by a rich lawyer, who bought and brought him from Australia. But this lawyer had only kept him in a cage, unloved and untamed, so he decided to let him go. Owners after him all gave up eventually. So then, there's me.
I insisted on naming him Rocky, after our missing kitten. Yes, he was aggressive but he was also quick to get along with people. He was curious and always wanted our attention. He was loving and very manja. Rocky was adorable.
It took me so long to understand his behavior, his illnesses, his aggressiveness. Rocky wasn't raised well. He never knew love. He never knew what it was like to be potty trained or to be rewarded for behaving well but I already loved him when we first met.
That was our first proper photo together. His fur was still full, his belly round, his ears clean, he was in his best state yet. I would always let him come to my lap for a pet, and sometimes he would just curl up and fell asleep. Rocky was my own amusement.
That was our first proper photo together. His fur was still full, his belly round, his ears clean, he was in his best state yet. I would always let him come to my lap for a pet, and sometimes he would just curl up and fell asleep. Rocky was my own amusement.
On His Aggressiveness:
Previous owners would tell me that Rocky was easily provoked. Wrong. Rocky was always meant to be an indoor cat. Whenever he was outdoor, it was like his entire self got shut down, and he immediately switched his defense mode on. Rocky had successfully sneaked out many times in the past, and once went missing for three days. Nobody knew what I felt then. I was a waterwork. I turned myself to God even more, for Him to lead my cat back home. A relative had found him stranded in a drainage, but they couldn't pick him up because he was being aggressive. You could call me overprotective, but losing Rocky was like the end of the world for me, hence never letting him outside since.
On His Whoopsies:
I was told from the beginning that Rocky would "most probably missed his litterboxes." They were right. His stool was soft, and he often missed his litter box. As years went by, he started to pee everywhere too (but I guess this is common in unneutered male cats). Because of his stool and litter issue, I had dedicated time and money to bring him from one vet to another, one treatment after another and yet nothing worked. His urinary and digestive issues had always been there, long before we adopted him. I was able to fix his soft stool by feeding him only premium food. The whoopsies not so much.
I started working full time in 2014, and my job was demanding. I was having a hard time to find balance. Sometimes I would work from morning until 10 p.m. and even during my off days. I was exhausted and stressed. I couldn't spare the energy to even clean up their litter boxes.
My parents had suggested that we put him in a cage while I was at work so he wouldn't be pooping everywhere around the house. My mom was always complaining about it so I couldn't say much but to agree. Since then, Rocky spent most of his times inside the cage at our verandah.
He was okay in the beginning. We had a maid who was willing to clean up his cage, and litterboxes and played with him once in a while. And when she left, I started to struggle again. My dad had rescued another kitten in late 2014, causing Rocky to feel depressed. He felt as if his love was divided, and that we weren't paying attention anymore. In 2015, my dad brought home yet another kitten. Rocky's health started to worsen.
He was losing weight fast. He started to catch one infection after another. It was countless visits to the vet, and never being able to cure anything successfully. It was me losing count of the money I've spent just to make sure I could nurse him back to health. 2016 was the beginning to what seems like an end to our battle.
The first time I had noticed some bleeding and weird odor in his right ear. The vet gave him some shot, antibiotic, ointment and cleaned his ear. She said it was just ear mites.
The second time, he was walking with a tilted head and was losing his balance. The vet gave him some shot, antibiotic, ointment and cleaned his ears. She said there was a growth in his ear but it should be okay after a week.
This went on and on for almost two years.
A couple of months ago, his ear started to bleed more and there was discharge. I had told the vet that none of the medication seemed to work anymore. She looked through his ear and told me that the infection was growing bigger. She told me, it was a tumor. It is a tumor. She gave him more shots, more antibiotics and more pills. I asked if there was anything we could do to treat the tumor. She suggested surgery but said that it would be risky considering his age. A month later, I called in to book for the surgery. He wasn't getting any better.
When we dropped him off for the surgery, he had caught a fever and his cheek was swollen. It was happening all too fast. We took him home, and let his fever subsided. We rearranged another day for his surgery, that fell on the same day I was leaving Brunei. I left it to my siblings to make sure he was eating his meds, and that he was fed properly after his surgery. But nobody really knew how to handle the cats at home except for me. Rocky was fine for a while, and he even seemed like he was starting to gain some weight again.
But I was wrong.
The infection resurfaced, and his ear was bleeding again. There was discharge. He was losing weight faster than before. His cheek started to swell and was affecting his throat too. Half of me paralysed, thinking if I should keep taking him to the vet and spending money on useless treatments. He would look at me blankly, wanting to be loved again, but knew that as soon as my hand landed on his head, I would clean his ear over and over again. He hates it when I do that. His tumor is my enemy.
Nobody knows what it's like to look at him, wondering if I had mistreated him and if I was such a failure. My heart breaks every single time I think about him being in pain, and not being able to find a cure. He is still here with me, fighting each day and still communicating with his eyes every time he wants something to eat.
I'm scared to take him to the vet, knowing that they have run out of options. What if they would tell me that he's too old and that I should just consider of letting him go? To euthanize my own cat? I can't. I can't deal with that kind of option. I can't let go of him like that. I don't even know if I could let him go in any way at all. I just want to nurse him back to health. I want to be able to make up all the time I've lost, leaving him to suffer on his own. But I don't want him to keep suffering too.
I stroked his body before I went off to bed, to write this post. I could feel his bones and his fur a clear indication of his unhealthy body. My once chubby cat is now a skinny cat, with a swollen cheek, broken whiskers and an infected ear. I hate myself for seeing him like that.
I hate myself for still having a job that leaves me tired every single time. I hate myself for the anemia that's causing the rapid exhaustion in my body. I just hate that I couldn't take care of all my cats the way I wish I could. I hate that I don't have all the money in the world to make miracles happen. I hate the failure that I am.
Where did time go? Where did I go wrong? Why can't I clean up this mess and make it all better? Sigh.
That beginning of our battle seems to be coming to an end. I don't know when exactly, but I know it's coming. I know that my days with Rocky are numbered. I know that I can no longer promise him brighter days, but I know his pain shall be relieved of him. I know enough not to be selfish, when I should be compassionate and empathetic to how he must've been feeling right now. He wants to be loved, just the way it used to be. He is loved, always has been. I've been showing it through the numerous vet visits, endless shots, and bitter pills and I guess, he must've thought I was punishing him for something he didn't mean to catch.
My dearest dearest Rocky,
Forgive me for I have failed. And you, you are a smart cat, loving and kind. Thanks for needing me. Thanks for choosing me. Thanks for loving me, when nobody else could. Mostly, thank you for being strong and patient. Please bear with me, just this time because I know I should be taking you to the vet again because I care. I care for you my love. I hope we'll find a way to get you back on your feet. Insya Allah.
Previous owners would tell me that Rocky was easily provoked. Wrong. Rocky was always meant to be an indoor cat. Whenever he was outdoor, it was like his entire self got shut down, and he immediately switched his defense mode on. Rocky had successfully sneaked out many times in the past, and once went missing for three days. Nobody knew what I felt then. I was a waterwork. I turned myself to God even more, for Him to lead my cat back home. A relative had found him stranded in a drainage, but they couldn't pick him up because he was being aggressive. You could call me overprotective, but losing Rocky was like the end of the world for me, hence never letting him outside since.
On His Whoopsies:
I was told from the beginning that Rocky would "most probably missed his litterboxes." They were right. His stool was soft, and he often missed his litter box. As years went by, he started to pee everywhere too (but I guess this is common in unneutered male cats). Because of his stool and litter issue, I had dedicated time and money to bring him from one vet to another, one treatment after another and yet nothing worked. His urinary and digestive issues had always been there, long before we adopted him. I was able to fix his soft stool by feeding him only premium food. The whoopsies not so much.
I started working full time in 2014, and my job was demanding. I was having a hard time to find balance. Sometimes I would work from morning until 10 p.m. and even during my off days. I was exhausted and stressed. I couldn't spare the energy to even clean up their litter boxes.
My parents had suggested that we put him in a cage while I was at work so he wouldn't be pooping everywhere around the house. My mom was always complaining about it so I couldn't say much but to agree. Since then, Rocky spent most of his times inside the cage at our verandah.
He was okay in the beginning. We had a maid who was willing to clean up his cage, and litterboxes and played with him once in a while. And when she left, I started to struggle again. My dad had rescued another kitten in late 2014, causing Rocky to feel depressed. He felt as if his love was divided, and that we weren't paying attention anymore. In 2015, my dad brought home yet another kitten. Rocky's health started to worsen.
He was losing weight fast. He started to catch one infection after another. It was countless visits to the vet, and never being able to cure anything successfully. It was me losing count of the money I've spent just to make sure I could nurse him back to health. 2016 was the beginning to what seems like an end to our battle.
The first time I had noticed some bleeding and weird odor in his right ear. The vet gave him some shot, antibiotic, ointment and cleaned his ear. She said it was just ear mites.
The second time, he was walking with a tilted head and was losing his balance. The vet gave him some shot, antibiotic, ointment and cleaned his ears. She said there was a growth in his ear but it should be okay after a week.
This went on and on for almost two years.
A couple of months ago, his ear started to bleed more and there was discharge. I had told the vet that none of the medication seemed to work anymore. She looked through his ear and told me that the infection was growing bigger. She told me, it was a tumor. It is a tumor. She gave him more shots, more antibiotics and more pills. I asked if there was anything we could do to treat the tumor. She suggested surgery but said that it would be risky considering his age. A month later, I called in to book for the surgery. He wasn't getting any better.
When we dropped him off for the surgery, he had caught a fever and his cheek was swollen. It was happening all too fast. We took him home, and let his fever subsided. We rearranged another day for his surgery, that fell on the same day I was leaving Brunei. I left it to my siblings to make sure he was eating his meds, and that he was fed properly after his surgery. But nobody really knew how to handle the cats at home except for me. Rocky was fine for a while, and he even seemed like he was starting to gain some weight again.
But I was wrong.
The infection resurfaced, and his ear was bleeding again. There was discharge. He was losing weight faster than before. His cheek started to swell and was affecting his throat too. Half of me paralysed, thinking if I should keep taking him to the vet and spending money on useless treatments. He would look at me blankly, wanting to be loved again, but knew that as soon as my hand landed on his head, I would clean his ear over and over again. He hates it when I do that. His tumor is my enemy.
Nobody knows what it's like to look at him, wondering if I had mistreated him and if I was such a failure. My heart breaks every single time I think about him being in pain, and not being able to find a cure. He is still here with me, fighting each day and still communicating with his eyes every time he wants something to eat.
I'm scared to take him to the vet, knowing that they have run out of options. What if they would tell me that he's too old and that I should just consider of letting him go? To euthanize my own cat? I can't. I can't deal with that kind of option. I can't let go of him like that. I don't even know if I could let him go in any way at all. I just want to nurse him back to health. I want to be able to make up all the time I've lost, leaving him to suffer on his own. But I don't want him to keep suffering too.
I stroked his body before I went off to bed, to write this post. I could feel his bones and his fur a clear indication of his unhealthy body. My once chubby cat is now a skinny cat, with a swollen cheek, broken whiskers and an infected ear. I hate myself for seeing him like that.
I hate myself for still having a job that leaves me tired every single time. I hate myself for the anemia that's causing the rapid exhaustion in my body. I just hate that I couldn't take care of all my cats the way I wish I could. I hate that I don't have all the money in the world to make miracles happen. I hate the failure that I am.
Where did time go? Where did I go wrong? Why can't I clean up this mess and make it all better? Sigh.
That beginning of our battle seems to be coming to an end. I don't know when exactly, but I know it's coming. I know that my days with Rocky are numbered. I know that I can no longer promise him brighter days, but I know his pain shall be relieved of him. I know enough not to be selfish, when I should be compassionate and empathetic to how he must've been feeling right now. He wants to be loved, just the way it used to be. He is loved, always has been. I've been showing it through the numerous vet visits, endless shots, and bitter pills and I guess, he must've thought I was punishing him for something he didn't mean to catch.
My dearest dearest Rocky,
Forgive me for I have failed. And you, you are a smart cat, loving and kind. Thanks for needing me. Thanks for choosing me. Thanks for loving me, when nobody else could. Mostly, thank you for being strong and patient. Please bear with me, just this time because I know I should be taking you to the vet again because I care. I care for you my love. I hope we'll find a way to get you back on your feet. Insya Allah.
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