Buddy, I'm afraid to be alone.
by Kate
(London, Ontario, Canada)
Zevon was born on April 24th, 2009. He came into my life shortly after that, on June 25th. I remember that date, because after I came home with him I turned on the television and was bombarded with the news that Micheal Jackson had died.
Zevon was named after Warren Zevon, my favorite musical artist. I suppose, in hindsight, it was an appropriate name because both Zevon the cat and Zevon the human were taken from this earth long before their time. If life were "fair" they'd both be healthy & alive today.
I'd never been much of a cat person, I grew up around dogs and horses. But, I was feeling lonely and vulnerable after a recent heartbreak, and my small apartment that I share with two other girls did not lend itself to a dog (or a horse, for that matter.) When I met this kitty I just knew he was mine.
We almost instantly became best friends: Zevon would never leave my side whether I was cleaning, doing homework, watching television, cleaning the apartment, or sleeping. My roommates said that when I wasn't home, they never saw him: he'd go hide somewhere, either in a closet, or my room, or under my roommate's bed.
Everyone loved my kitty: my roommates, the veterinarian & everyone who worked at his office, my new boyfriend, visitors to our place. He just had so much love to give, and life was just fun for him. He never cried, or whined, he just wanted you to play with him.
Zevon died very suddenly and unexpectedly. We just found him dead on January 11 2010 under my roommate's bed. His eyes were closed, like he'd fallen asleep and fully expected to wake up again. We never even heard a peep from him.
I know I only had Zevon for a matter of months, about seven to be exact. But Zevon was the first and only kitty I have ever had, and we'd bonded instantaneously. This week, I haven't been able to concentrate or think coherently. I break down in tears when I'm not expecting to, sometimes when I'm in public, and I feel stupid. I've been lashing out at people who don't deserve it, and have dreams every single night about my kitty still being alive. I dream that he somehow came back from the dead, and everything is fine again. When I wake up I'm sad because he's still gone.
