A place without Betty

I mentioned that I still talked to Betty, even though she's not longer
around. About a month or so ago, some of the "I love you" became
interspersed with "I miss you".

"Betty my love. I love you. I love you so much. SO much! Daddy
loves you. Daddy will always love you. We'll always be together.
You and me, together forever."

Then: "I miss you."

I never said "I miss you" to Betty when she was around of course, so
this broke a pattern. I also started crying at work, and at other
places. This hadn't happened before either, because I was used to not
being around Betty when I wasn't at home. I think this means that my
heart is beginning to realize or accept that Betty is truly gone.

The world has changed little by little. Nothing is really the same.
When I look out at a lake, it is no longer a lake, but a lake with no
Betty. When I see a tree, it's no longer a tree, but a tree with no
Betty.

I do see one image of Betty a lot, and it is the image of her lying
dead. I see her when I close my eyes. Also, whenever I am in front
of a reflective rectangular surface, I see Betty lying on the steel
table where I took her to die. Unfortunately, my desk at work, which
has a glass top, is such a surface.

When at home, it feels as though I no longer have a home. When Betty
was here, this house was where Betty and I played and laughed and
chatted and cuddled. It was Betty's home, our home, a warm place.

It is no longer a home here, but a mausoleum where Betty's ashes
occupy a niche. It has become a gloomy and forbidding place. I stay
up late at night thinking about Betty. I cross my arms or put my chin
on my hands and just stare off into space. It's become hard to sleep.
When I'm falling asleep, I'll remember something about Betty's last
day, and it'll just instantly pull me out of nascent slumber, like
being splashed with a cupful of ice water. I dream that there are
people in trench coats chasing me, clamoring to avenge Betty.

The combination of these factors makes it seem as though I actually
never left the room at the veterinary office that day. I actually
stepped out into another world that superficially looks like the real
world, but is actually a kind of personal hell. It's sort of like
someone pulled a prank on me, taking Betty and leaving me here. I
want to say, ha ha, very funny - now take me to Betty, where we can
sleep and dream as we had done before, but together, forever.

I was hesitating to write about this before, but I've found in the
past that when I bring up my experiences here, it turns out to have
been shared by many others. Maybe you can relate to this too.

"Takayuki" wrote
I was hesitating to write about this before, but I've found in the
past that when I bring up my experiences here, it turns out to have
been shared by many others. Maybe you can relate to this too.

So poignantly put I could hardly read it, Tak.

Yes I fear I relate to that all too well. First when I ended the
suffering of my elderly special boy Aries, then when I laid to rest the
headless body of my too-young Kensey, killed by a plough, then when I
had to have TED euthanase my Pericles long before his time.

Fortunately each new agony relatively diminished the previous ones by
its very immediacy, but that's about the only good thing I can think of
in favour of any bereavement.

Except perhaps that by concentrating on the years of wonderful memories
with each companion the pain of the time of their loss does gradually
diminish.

And that's all I can see to write.

My empathetic thoughts are with you - and hopefully a new special
companion will soon be with you too.

Purrs
Gordon & the FF



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"Takayuki" wrote in message
...
snip
The combination of these factors makes it seem as though I actually
never left the room at the veterinary office that day. I actually
stepped out into another world that superficially looks like the real
world, but is actually a kind of personal hell. It's sort of like
someone pulled a prank on me, taking Betty and leaving me here. I
want to say, ha ha, very funny - now take me to Betty, where we can
sleep and dream as we had done before, but together, forever.

I was hesitating to write about this before, but I've found in the
past that when I bring up my experiences here, it turns out to have
been shared by many others. Maybe you can relate to this too.


Have you considered getting another cat? Another cat would never replace
Betty -- we do not "replace" our furbabies, just as one child can never
replace another for parents, but the addition of a new cat can often ease
the pain. It would also give a loving home to another cat that otherwise
would probably be euthanized. If you are uncertain, you could consider
fostering, possibly for a rescue group.

I never experienced exactly the same thing as you described. However, it
was so painful when I had to have my first cat euthanized many years ago (at
the age of 20) that I had decided that I would never get another cat and put
myself through that type of pain. As the weeks wore on, I thought and
talked about him in what must have seen like an incessant manner to others.
Eventually, I realized that I really *needed* to have a furry companion.
The time was *right* in another way, too -- Amber needed a home. She was
about to be put outdoors (even thought they had *declawed all four paws*)
because there "wouldn't be room for her" in a mobile home now that they were
going to have a second baby. Well, adopting Amber turned out to be exactly
the right decision both for Amber and for me. She was truly a little angel
(and I still cannot forgive those people for declawing her). I soon loved
her, but in a different way from my first furbaby. As I said, one does not
replace another; she was an *addition.* However, I soon found that I now
thought only about the good things with my first cat. I lost the feeling of
pain and instead looked back with gratitude and happy memories of him. I
still keep his picture on display (and one can be seen in some of my Holly &
Duffy pictures -- the gray cat above the computer; Amber is the white cat),
but all my memories of both cats are good. When I once again had to make
the painful decision for euthanasia (with Amber at the age of 16), I knew
that I would get another cat. I had learned from the experience that it is
*good* to move on and accept another furry companion. So, Holly came into
my life -- and later Duffy, so for the first time I had two cats together.
I have never regretted it for instant!!

So, you might want to give this some consideration. As I said, you could
even consider fostering as a "trial run."

MaryL

Photos of Duffy and Holly: 'o'
Duffy: http://tinyurl.com/cslwf
Holly: http://tinyurl.com/9t68o
Duffy and Holly together: http://tinyurl.com/8b47e

"Takayuki" wrote

I was hesitating to write about this before, but I've found in the
past that when I bring up my experiences here, it turns out to have
been shared by many others. Maybe you can relate to this too.

Yes. Similar feelings every time I've lost a pet. Blaming myself no matter
what the cause.... Nothing will bring them back to this life, and I don't
want to tell you how much a new cat in your life can help, because I know
you don't want to think about it just yet. I've also been at the place where
one says "No more pets, ever again, because it hurts to much to lose them."
I didn't heed my own counsel, so I have a lot of pain ahead of me, but I
will always have furry healers to help me get through it. I think it's the
only way.

Takayuki wrote:
I mentioned that I still talked to Betty, even though she's not longer
around. About a month or so ago, some of the "I love you" became
interspersed with "I miss you".

"Betty my love. I love you. I love you so much. SO much! Daddy
loves you. Daddy will always love you. We'll always be together.
You and me, together forever."

Then: "I miss you."

I never said "I miss you" to Betty when she was around of course, so
this broke a pattern. I also started crying at work, and at other
places. This hadn't happened before either, because I was used to not
being around Betty when I wasn't at home. I think this means that my
heart is beginning to realize or accept that Betty is truly gone.

The world has changed little by little. Nothing is really the same.
When I look out at a lake, it is no longer a lake, but a lake with no
Betty. When I see a tree, it's no longer a tree, but a tree with no
Betty.

I do see one image of Betty a lot, and it is the image of her lying
dead. I see her when I close my eyes. Also, whenever I am in front
of a reflective rectangular surface, I see Betty lying on the steel
table where I took her to die. Unfortunately, my desk at work, which
has a glass top, is such a surface.

When at home, it feels as though I no longer have a home. When Betty
was here, this house was where Betty and I played and laughed and
chatted and cuddled. It was Betty's home, our home, a warm place.

It is no longer a home here, but a mausoleum where Betty's ashes
occupy a niche. It has become a gloomy and forbidding place. I stay
up late at night thinking about Betty. I cross my arms or put my chin
on my hands and just stare off into space. It's become hard to sleep.
When I'm falling asleep, I'll remember something about Betty's last
day, and it'll just instantly pull me out of nascent slumber, like
being splashed with a cupful of ice water. I dream that there are
people in trench coats chasing me, clamoring to avenge Betty.

The combination of these factors makes it seem as though I actually
never left the room at the veterinary office that day. I actually
stepped out into another world that superficially looks like the real
world, but is actually a kind of personal hell. It's sort of like
someone pulled a prank on me, taking Betty and leaving me here. I
want to say, ha ha, very funny - now take me to Betty, where we can
sleep and dream as we had done before, but together, forever.

I was hesitating to write about this before, but I've found in the
past that when I bring up my experiences here, it turns out to have
been shared by many others. Maybe you can relate to this too.

I am so sorry to hear about the loss of your dear Betty. I know exactly how
you feel when I loss my dear Kit (he was hit by a police car) I thought I was
going to die and I was so young. when my twins were babies I adopted Meow
from the animal shelter and have had him every since(he's 10) he fell ill
today(possibly a stroke) I feel so bad I can't take him to the vet until the
morning because of the transportation. My heart is so heavy right now because
I can't do anything my hands are tied all I can do is see my kitty suffer. It
hurts so bad. So I understand but I do agree with everyone else here. When
you are ready you should consider adopting a new furbaby.

--
Message posted via CatKB.com
http://www.catkb.com/Uwe/Forums.aspx...dotes/200608/1

On Sat, 05 Aug 2006 17:47:33 -0400, Takayuki
yodeled:

I mentioned that I still talked to Betty, even though she's not longer
around. About a month or so ago, some of the "I love you" became
interspersed with "I miss you".

"Betty my love. I love you. I love you so much. SO much! Daddy
loves you. Daddy will always love you. We'll always be together.
You and me, together forever."

Then: "I miss you."

I never said "I miss you" to Betty when she was around of course, so
this broke a pattern. I also started crying at work, and at other
places. This hadn't happened before either, because I was used to not
being around Betty when I wasn't at home. I think this means that my
heart is beginning to realize or accept that Betty is truly gone.

The world has changed little by little. Nothing is really the same.
When I look out at a lake, it is no longer a lake, but a lake with no
Betty. When I see a tree, it's no longer a tree, but a tree with no
Betty.

I do see one image of Betty a lot, and it is the image of her lying
dead. I see her when I close my eyes. Also, whenever I am in front
of a reflective rectangular surface, I see Betty lying on the steel
table where I took her to die. Unfortunately, my desk at work, which
has a glass top, is such a surface.

When at home, it feels as though I no longer have a home. When Betty
was here, this house was where Betty and I played and laughed and
chatted and cuddled. It was Betty's home, our home, a warm place.

It is no longer a home here, but a mausoleum where Betty's ashes
occupy a niche. It has become a gloomy and forbidding place. I stay
up late at night thinking about Betty. I cross my arms or put my chin
on my hands and just stare off into space. It's become hard to sleep.
When I'm falling asleep, I'll remember something about Betty's last
day, and it'll just instantly pull me out of nascent slumber, like
being splashed with a cupful of ice water. I dream that there are
people in trench coats chasing me, clamoring to avenge Betty.

The combination of these factors makes it seem as though I actually
never left the room at the veterinary office that day. I actually
stepped out into another world that superficially looks like the real
world, but is actually a kind of personal hell. It's sort of like
someone pulled a prank on me, taking Betty and leaving me here. I
want to say, ha ha, very funny - now take me to Betty, where we can
sleep and dream as we had done before, but together, forever.

I was hesitating to write about this before, but I've found in the
past that when I bring up my experiences here, it turns out to have
been shared by many others. Maybe you can relate to this too.


((((((((((((Tak))))))))))))))))))

Theresa
Stinky Pictures: http://community.webshots.com/album/125591586JWEFwh

Make Levees, Not War

"Takayuki" wrote in message
...

I was hesitating to write about this before, but I've found in the
past that when I bring up my experiences here, it turns out to have
been shared by many others. Maybe you can relate to this too.

(((((((((((((((((Purrs))))))))))))))))))) Tak

At the moment our grief is still raw but I can fully understand how you must
be feeling. I can still see Cleo, in the house, in the garden. I have put
her special plates away so I don't have to look at them.

Last night I went out and stood by her grave and whispered to her that we
lave and miss her. We planted a beautiful deep pink Camellia yesterday on
her grave, I will get a cat statue to place there as well.

As I look at my 5 kittens playing today, full of the joys of life and not a
worry in the world, I think one day they will break someone's heart, I have
to hope that between now and then they will have a wonderful full life with
loving slaves.

Purrs

Lois

Burmese are like potato chips, you can't just have one!

Tak I am in tears reading your post below
Something That I discovered on the net

IF TEARS COULD BUILD A STAIRWAY


If tears could build a stairway.
and memories a lane.
I would walk right up to Heaven
and bring you back again.


No farewell words were spoken
No time to say "Goodbye."
You were gone before I knew it.
and only Gods knows why.


My heart still aches with sadness.
and secret tears still flow.
What it meant to love you-
No one can ever know.


But now I know you want me
to mourn for you no mo
To remember all the happy times.
life still has much in store


Since you'll never be forgotten.
I pledge to you today-
A hollowed place within my heart.
is where you will always stay.


Author unknown



"Takayuki" wrote in message
...
I mentioned that I still talked to Betty, even though she's not longer
around. About a month or so ago, some of the "I love you" became
interspersed with "I miss you".

"Betty my love. I love you. I love you so much. SO much! Daddy
loves you. Daddy will always love you. We'll always be together.
You and me, together forever."

Then: "I miss you."

I never said "I miss you" to Betty when she was around of course, so
this broke a pattern. I also started crying at work, and at other
places. This hadn't happened before either, because I was used to not
being around Betty when I wasn't at home. I think this means that my
heart is beginning to realize or accept that Betty is truly gone.

The world has changed little by little. Nothing is really the same.
When I look out at a lake, it is no longer a lake, but a lake with no
Betty. When I see a tree, it's no longer a tree, but a tree with no
Betty.

I do see one image of Betty a lot, and it is the image of her lying
dead. I see her when I close my eyes. Also, whenever I am in front
of a reflective rectangular surface, I see Betty lying on the steel
table where I took her to die. Unfortunately, my desk at work, which
has a glass top, is such a surface.

When at home, it feels as though I no longer have a home. When Betty
was here, this house was where Betty and I played and laughed and
chatted and cuddled. It was Betty's home, our home, a warm place.

It is no longer a home here, but a mausoleum where Betty's ashes
occupy a niche. It has become a gloomy and forbidding place. I stay
up late at night thinking about Betty. I cross my arms or put my chin
on my hands and just stare off into space. It's become hard to sleep.
When I'm falling asleep, I'll remember something about Betty's last
day, and it'll just instantly pull me out of nascent slumber, like
being splashed with a cupful of ice water. I dream that there are
people in trench coats chasing me, clamoring to avenge Betty.

The combination of these factors makes it seem as though I actually
never left the room at the veterinary office that day. I actually
stepped out into another world that superficially looks like the real
world, but is actually a kind of personal hell. It's sort of like
someone pulled a prank on me, taking Betty and leaving me here. I
want to say, ha ha, very funny - now take me to Betty, where we can
sleep and dream as we had done before, but together, forever.

I was hesitating to write about this before, but I've found in the
past that when I bring up my experiences here, it turns out to have
been shared by many others. Maybe you can relate to this too.

Takayuki wrote:
I mentioned that I still talked to Betty, even though she's not longer
around. About a month or so ago, some of the "I love you" became
interspersed with "I miss you".

"Betty my love. I love you. I love you so much. SO much! Daddy
loves you. Daddy will always love you. We'll always be together.
You and me, together forever."

Then: "I miss you."

I never said "I miss you" to Betty when she was around of course, so
this broke a pattern. I also started crying at work, and at other
places. This hadn't happened before either, because I was used to not
being around Betty when I wasn't at home. I think this means that my
heart is beginning to realize or accept that Betty is truly gone.

The world has changed little by little. Nothing is really the same.
When I look out at a lake, it is no longer a lake, but a lake with no
Betty. When I see a tree, it's no longer a tree, but a tree with no
Betty.

I do see one image of Betty a lot, and it is the image of her lying
dead. I see her when I close my eyes. Also, whenever I am in front
of a reflective rectangular surface, I see Betty lying on the steel
table where I took her to die. Unfortunately, my desk at work, which
has a glass top, is such a surface.

When at home, it feels as though I no longer have a home. When Betty
was here, this house was where Betty and I played and laughed and
chatted and cuddled. It was Betty's home, our home, a warm place.

It is no longer a home here, but a mausoleum where Betty's ashes
occupy a niche. It has become a gloomy and forbidding place. I stay
up late at night thinking about Betty. I cross my arms or put my chin
on my hands and just stare off into space. It's become hard to sleep.
When I'm falling asleep, I'll remember something about Betty's last
day, and it'll just instantly pull me out of nascent slumber, like
being splashed with a cupful of ice water. I dream that there are
people in trench coats chasing me, clamoring to avenge Betty.

The combination of these factors makes it seem as though I actually
never left the room at the veterinary office that day. I actually
stepped out into another world that superficially looks like the real
world, but is actually a kind of personal hell. It's sort of like
someone pulled a prank on me, taking Betty and leaving me here. I
want to say, ha ha, very funny - now take me to Betty, where we can
sleep and dream as we had done before, but together, forever.

I was hesitating to write about this before, but I've found in the
past that when I bring up my experiences here, it turns out to have
been shared by many others. Maybe you can relate to this too.

Oh TAK! I know how you feel. It's a desperate lonely feeling. Like the
world conspired to take away what was precious. You didn't have nearly
enough time with your sweet Betty. I know.

When my dog Sampson (the first and only dog I ever had) died after almost 18
years I walked around for the first year after like a zombie. I saw him in
everything and everywhere. It was so painful. People at work thought I was
nuts. I would burst into tears at the slightest provocation; anything that
reminded me of him brought me to tears.

I was also visited by him. (Yes, sounds crazy, but I was.) He told me in
his own way it was time to let him go but that he'd always be here with me,
watching over me. I truly believe that.

And, a year later, who knocked on my door? Persia. I had never intended to
have a cat. She *demanded* I let her in. I think my dear departed Sampson
had a hand in this

In time, I truly believe you will get the message from Betty "this is the
one, help her" and your heart will start to heal. Blessings for you in the
meantime, my friend. Grief is a difficult thing. Give yourself time and
know you are not alone. Betty will always be there and so will we.

Jill

"Takayuki" wrote in message
...
I mentioned that I still talked to Betty, even though she's not longer
around. About a month or so ago, some of the "I love you" became
interspersed with "I miss you".

"Betty my love. I love you. I love you so much. SO much! Daddy
loves you. Daddy will always love you. We'll always be together.
You and me, together forever."

Then: "I miss you."

I never said "I miss you" to Betty when she was around of course, so
this broke a pattern. I also started crying at work, and at other
places. This hadn't happened before either, because I was used to not
being around Betty when I wasn't at home. I think this means that my
heart is beginning to realize or accept that Betty is truly gone.

The world has changed little by little. Nothing is really the same.
When I look out at a lake, it is no longer a lake, but a lake with no
Betty. When I see a tree, it's no longer a tree, but a tree with no
Betty.

I do see one image of Betty a lot, and it is the image of her lying
dead. I see her when I close my eyes. Also, whenever I am in front
of a reflective rectangular surface, I see Betty lying on the steel
table where I took her to die. Unfortunately, my desk at work, which
has a glass top, is such a surface.

When at home, it feels as though I no longer have a home. When Betty
was here, this house was where Betty and I played and laughed and
chatted and cuddled. It was Betty's home, our home, a warm place.

It is no longer a home here, but a mausoleum where Betty's ashes
occupy a niche. It has become a gloomy and forbidding place. I stay
up late at night thinking about Betty. I cross my arms or put my chin
on my hands and just stare off into space. It's become hard to sleep.
When I'm falling asleep, I'll remember something about Betty's last
day, and it'll just instantly pull me out of nascent slumber, like
being splashed with a cupful of ice water. I dream that there are
people in trench coats chasing me, clamoring to avenge Betty.

The combination of these factors makes it seem as though I actually
never left the room at the veterinary office that day. I actually
stepped out into another world that superficially looks like the real
world, but is actually a kind of personal hell. It's sort of like
someone pulled a prank on me, taking Betty and leaving me here. I
want to say, ha ha, very funny - now take me to Betty, where we can
sleep and dream as we had done before, but together, forever.

I was hesitating to write about this before, but I've found in the
past that when I bring up my experiences here, it turns out to have
been shared by many others. Maybe you can relate to this too.

(((((((((((Takayuki)))))))))))

I experienced something similar to some things you mention after my husband
died. The hardest image to get rid of was that of him lying dead in his
hospital bed. My son helped me find a way to dispel that image. I didn't
have any good, recent photos of him by himself, and my son wanted one to
carry in his wallet. However, there were photos of his Barbershop Quartet.
This was before the days of manipulating photos on the computer, so I took
some of the quartet photos to a couple of people in my photography club.
One made an 8 x 10 print of Jim alone, and another made some wallet sized
photos of him. Every time I started getting the image of him lying dead, I
would look at the photo. That eventually pushed the image to the back of my
mind, and it hasn't reappeared in years.

Joy