I’m writing this letter to you with your ashes wrapped up in a small bundle. I kept the coarse, white cloth the crematorium guy put you in and added an extra, soft black fabric I got at the fabric store so I can cuddle with you. There are tear stains on the black cloth that I need to wash off, but otherwise, your bundle of ashes looks very cute and cuddly.
I miss you, but you know that because I keep telling your spirit every single day. We are fortunate to live in Thailand, where the spirits are honored with spirit houses and daily offerings.
This culture of honoring the dead makes it easier to honor you. Not only because I can buy a string of white and red spirit flowers for 10 baht to put on your picture, but I pass by spirit houses and offerings that other people leave out every single day, so the spirit world is very present here.
Your last year on earth was rough for both of us. You had a lot of health problems but the ones you had early last year were not fatal, at least not that I knew of. Up until I found you comatose in your carrier, already in the final stages of death, I truly believed you would live to be twenty years old.
Had I known you would die a month after your eleventh birthday, I would have done so much more to show you that I love you. I could have done so much more for you.
Instead, I was impatient with you because I was very stressed by financial shit and mental shit and you were sick and upset. We have been stuck in this small apartment with a horrible view of the apartments next to us. You needed more stimulation and I needed more money, it was a bad combo for both of us.
You were so uncomfortable the entire time you were in this horrible apartment. The actual apartment is nice and newish, but the area and the view drove you, me, and your sisters Varla and Cersei, crazy.
Cersei hates it here and paces around the apartment just like you used to. I’m trying my best to get us out of here, but it’s difficult to find something I can afford that isn’t shittier than this place. I have been looking since we moved here, and here we are, still stuck.
This is not the place where I wanted you to die. This was not the time. You should have died somewhere spacious and peaceful, with a beautiful view of trees, birds, and the sun. When we lived on the island, you loved to sunbathe and would watch the birds outside for hours. You were much calmer and only got angry when you felt sick, which ended up being more and more often.
You should have died at twenty years of age minimum, in a large house by the sea with an amazing view of nature, and a nice, fresh sea breeze, pain-free and peacefully. Instead, you died in your carrier, in this small apartment with a shit view, and the sounds of cars rushing by since we’re right next to the highway. No wonder we have been so stressed! You were so much happier when we lived on the island with nature.
You died in excruciating pain and there was nothing I could do to help you except tell you I was sorry and cry. I ran out of money and couldn’t take you back to the vet for stronger painkillers. When I took you to the vet earlier that day, you were already complaining of pain since that morning, but my dumb ass forgot to tell the vet to give you something stronger.
The Sunday before you died was the worst day of my life and the worst day of yours. Saturday was great, you had such a great day. It was two weeks into you being sick, we were doing the song and dance of going to the vet nearly every day for checkups. You had really good days and really bad ones.
I knew you were really sick when you stopped eating and were looking gaunt and frail. I touched your back and felt your spine sticking out. It was scary and alarming.
Your health deteriorated rapidly, but there were warning signs of your ill health since December. The problem was that you hated the vet and acted like a wild animal every time I took you. When I took you to the vet last year, you had to be given anesthesia just to be examined!
On top of that, when you woke up from the anesthesia you attacked me and your sisters, so I had to quarantine you on the balcony. You screamed all night at the top of your lungs. I had to take you to the vet to board you for a few days until you calmed down since this apartment doesn’t allow cats and I didn’t want your screaming to get us kicked out.
When I picked you up from the vet, you were calm but that’s because you caught the cat flu at the boarding place! You then gave the cat flu to Cersei, who was able to recover quickly since she’s younger, but when Varla caught it, it almost killed her and her health has not been the same since.
Taking you to the vet for your mouth inflammation was a nightmare. And it was all for naught since you refused all medication and wouldn’t even let me wash your mouth to soothe the inflammation.
You were in so much pain and drooling everywhere but you wouldn’t let me help you. The vets said you had to have an x-ray to see what teeth to pull, but because you are very difficult at the vet, you would have needed to be anesthetized again for the x-ray, and then again to have your teeth pulled. I couldn’t afford it and couldn’t mentally handle you waking up angry and howling two more times!
Luckily, I figured out that wet food helped soothe your inflammation. Your stomatitis went away a few months later! I was so happy and thought we were in the clear, but then you started vomiting and howling in the morning.
The vomit was really bad, it was thick and brown. At first, I thought it was diarrhea, that’s how bad it looked and smelled. I knew something was wrong, but you hate the vet and I was broke. I didn’t know what I could do for you. I couldn’t afford to take you to the vet and be anesthetized, and then pay to board you for a few days so you wouldn’t scream and attack me and your sisters in the apartment when you woke up.
I didn’t know what to do. When Varla started throwing up too, I took her to the vet instead. Her tests came out normal and the vet said I was feeding you guys too much. So I tried feeding you less and that helped a bit, but you still threw up, and then I found blood in your stool.
I should have taken you to the vet immediately, and not the cheap vet I ended up taking you to before you died. I should have gone to the other one who was scared to examine you because you were hissing too much. Ok, maybe not him, but I should have done something different!
Instead, I waited until your spine was sticking out because I didn’t know what to do. Had I had money, I would have taken you to the vet as soon as you started throwing up, and paid for you to be put under while they tested you, and then paid for the boarding, but made sure you would not catch cat flu again.
Then I would pay for any tests and treatment you needed. Since you refused to take pills, I would have taken a taxi to the vet every single day to get shots. Then you would be alive right now.
But that’s not what happened. Your health was already declining when I took you to the vet. I didn’t realize how bad it was until the vet examined you and you didn’t even hiss once. That was how sick you were.
The vet’s face fell when he saw you and I knew that was a bad sign, but I still thought you would live. I had hope up until you were comatose and dying.
For two weeks, we went to the vet and you were so good. You took your medicine and ate when you could. When you started throwing up your medicine, I had to take you to the vet every day to get injections for pancreas inflammation, and antibiotics, and “pain killers” when necessary. At first, I thought the painkillers worked. You seemed a lot better after the shots. But I couldn’t afford to take you to the vet every day. There were some days where you didn’t go and that also lead to you dying.
The Saturday before you started to die, I couldn’t take you to the vet for your shots because the kid I tutor canceled. I was relying on that money to take you to the vet and I barely had any money for food. I was working just to take you to the vet and even had to borrow money from someone to help me help you, but it wasn’t enough.
You got sick and died at a terrible time. I have been broke since the virus shut down the world. My online teaching bookings dropped, I couldn’t find another online teaching job that didn’t pay slave wages. I have been doing other freelance jobs for extra money, but we were scraping by.
I couldn’t afford to take you to the good vet and do more for you. I could only afford the cheap vet with the shitty painkillers. There was probably something else wrong with you besides pancreatitis, but I couldn’t afford to take you somewhere else to find out.
The day before you started dying, you were jumping up on the couch and bed. You even ate some wet food! I thought you were doing well and even though I couldn’t afford to take you to the vet, I still believed you would be ok. Just like you were ok after a terrible bout of stomatitis last year, I thought you would survive pancreatitis.
I took it for granted that you were going to be ok. So that’s why that Saturday when you wanted constant cuddles, which I did give you, I had to finally put you on the couch so I could rest because I was so drained. I told you I loved you but that I needed a break because I was so tired. And I truly was. Two weeks of vets, and medicine, and vomit, and working, and scraping by had taken a toll on me.
You just wanted cuddles and I wanted to run away from my life.
I thought it was so weird that when you came close to me on Saturday night, I felt more drained of my energy. But when I touched Cersei and Varla, I didn’t feel drained.
In hindsight, I realize it was because you were draining my energy to stay alive. And had I known it would be your last day before you would begin dying, I would have cuddled you all night and allowed you to drain me dry.
But instead, you were left alone on the couch all night and I went to sleep on the bed. I was not next to you on your last good night and I should have been.
Sunday was awful. I woke up to you still on the couch where I left you, but you were in pain. I couldn’t take you to the vet because I didn’t have money. I prayed that my tutoring wouldn’t cancel so I could take you.
Luckily, they didn’t. But I had to teach a class while you moaned in pain. It was so awful. Then we had to wait for the kid’s dad to take his sweet time to transfer the $20 so I could rush you to the vet. Finally, at around 2 pm, I was able to take you.
I specifically remember promising you to get you stronger pain medicine and you listened to me and believed me. I made that promise to you and fucked up royally.
The vet couldn’t even examine you because you were hissing and growling. I took that as a good sign since that means you were back to your old self. But I was wrong.
The vet had to give you your injections through the soft carrier because you were impossible to examine in that state. When he said he was giving you painkillers, I nodded like an imbecile instead of remembering to ask for stronger painkillers.
A good vet would have been able to give you the right painkillers but we didn’t go to the good vet, we went to the cheap one. So you were given tramadol, which didn’t help last time, but my brain fog didn’t allow me to think to remind the vet of that. Instead, I accepted what was given and took you back home, thinking you would be ok.
You moaned in pain the rest of the day and I had to keep teaching. I couldn’t cancel my classes even though I wanted to because we needed the money real bad.
I thought you were just having another bad day. I was getting paid the next day. I thought I could just take you back to the vet on Monday and finally get you the right painkillers and you would be relaxed and fine again.
But that didn’t happen. Your pain worsened that night and there was nothing I could do. I had to teach while you moaned in pain in the carrier. You went in the carrier on your own since you felt the most comfortable there.
As soon as I was done teaching, I went to you, and you cried some more and I cried because I couldn’t do anything but cry. At that point, I knew you were in pain but I wasn’t sure if you were dying or not.
I mostly believed or wanted to believe that you just needed painkillers and could sleep this off. You had so many good and bad days, and so many nights where I thought it would be your last, only to find you fine and asking for cuddles the next day.
It wasn’t far-fetched to believe that you would make it until Monday when I could afford to take you to the vet as many times as you needed. But you didn’t last long enough.
When I went near you Saturday night, you cried even more. So I left you alone, thinking that my being near you was making you feel worse and that you just needed some rest. Every time you woke up crying, I would cry and I kept telling you how sorry I was that I couldn’t get you painkillers.
I remember your very last moan. It was around 11 pm. You moaned a little moan and then were silent forever. I didn’t want to wake you and didn’t know what to do. So I cried and went to sleep because if I didn’t sleep, I would have bad panic attacks and I had planned on taking you to the vet first thing in the morning.
I woke up at 4 am to silence and wondered why you hadn’t woken me up in the middle of the night. I still didn’t believe you were dead but part of me was wondering if you were. I laid in bed thinking about what to do. I didn’t want to wake you if you were in pain. It was too early to take you to the vet, so if you woke up in pain, it would just be more torment for a few hours until the vet opened.
Finally, around 5 am, I went to see you. It was still dark, so I used my kindle as a light to make sure you were still alive. I heard you breathing, fast, short breaths. I want to say your eyes were closed when I checked up on you because I thought you were sleeping but just in a lot of pain.
An hour later, I checked on you again and it was light enough for me to see you more clearly. And I think that it when you opened your eyes. Or maybe your eyes were open since I first checked on you. It’s hard to say.
But your eyes were opened and stayed open, even long after you died. At that point, you could only move your eyes, and only once in a while to blink automatically. You were in a coma and just breathing those quick, short breaths. I worried about you being in pain, but the fucking doctor wasn’t open for me to get you those motherfucking painkillers!
Thai vets are Buddhists and don’t euthanize animal companions because doing so is bad for their karma, so I didn’t have that as an option at the time. After your death, I was able to track down a vet who will perform at-home euthanasia, so at least now I know.
But as you were stiff and dying in that carrier on Monday morning, all I could do was talk to you and wait for the vet to open so I could get painkillers for you.
I checked you to see if you could move at all. You were so stiff but still breathing rapidly. I lifted your head, and your eyes remained opened, you were drooling and didn’t move anything but your eyes once in a while. It was only then that I knew that you were dying. Up until that point, I thought you would make it and die at twenty. I thought we had more time and that I would have a chance to redeem myself and give you the warm, loving, happy life you deserved. But this was it.
You were in that state all morning. I moved the carrier next to my desk so I could see you and talk to you as I tried to keep busy on my laptop. Even after one hundred straight days of meditation, I couldn’t be present enough to sit with you the entire time you died and not do something else. I had to keep busy.
I talked you to you, pet you, told you that I loved you, apologized to you hundreds of times for fucking up, brushed you, and told you about your life.
I could tell by your eyes that you could hear me and understood everything I was saying. You always understood English very well, sometimes TOO well! You heard every word and understood how much you mean to me and how much I wished that your last days with me were better and at least pain-free.
I’m not sure if you were still in pain Monday morning. I’m really hoping you weren’t. I finally got a hold of the vet and asked him to do a house call since I didn’t want to stress you out further by taking you outside our home.
The vet agreed to stop by, but not until 1 pm. So I talked to you, cried, cleaned, and looked for some emotional support online while you died next to me.
I found some supportive people on an online teacher message board, whose animal companions died. It’s a very painful thing to go through and only people who have gone through it understand how devastating it is. It helped a bit to not be alone in my pain.
I also edited the vlog footage of me taking you to the vet, monitoring your health, and expecting you to be ok. I’m glad I vlogged that because I could see that I was trying my best to keep you alive.
There’s a part in the vlog where I say, “I’m getting some money soon, so I can take you to the vet tomorrow.” That part always breaks my heart because my being too broke ended up killing you. I was struggling so much to take you to the vet but I couldn’t take you every single day like you needed. Not even to the cheap vet!
I heard someone refer to not being able to afford vet care for a terminally sick animal companion as “financial euthanasia.” My lack of finances killed you, not your shitty pancreas! Feeling powerless to help you because of my bank balance is fucking awful. Why couldn’t you have gotten sick when I became a millionaire author?! I would have taken you to the best vet in Bangkok every fucking day and given you the right painkillers.
Those fucking painkillers or lack thereof are going to haunt me for the rest of my life. Especially since I used to abuse drugs and know my painkillers. I could have asked for the right shit had I thought about it. But I went completely brain dead.
I swear Fate was doing her best to make your exit out of this shitty world the most painful and tragic as possible for both of us. You won bitch! you won!
The vet was going to come at 1 pm with morphine. I didn’t know morphine was an option for you! Thai doctors are notorious for being stingy with harder painkillers. Even people and animals in intense pain, are given tramadol unless you beg for something stronger.
Since you were dying, you were finally being offered the good stuff in lieu of not being able to be euthanized.
But you never felt the opiate euphoria your mother knows all-too-well because you died before the vet arrived. The vet was supposed to arrive at 1 pm but he was late.
I cleaned the entire apartment and went to see you at 1 pm. Soon after, your death throes began. It was as if you were waiting for me to come back to you to finally leave this realm.
Your throes were more like little jolts. At one point, I thought you were going to get up and walk around. You weren’t seizing and the jolts were very subdued compared to what I have read is typical before death.
But I knew those were death throes even though I have never seen anyone die before. My instincts, that told me to brush you and tell you about your life before you died, also told me to walk you through your death, so I did.
I told you that I loved you so much. I told you that you were such a good boy. For some reason, you like when I say that to you, so I said that to you over and over. I told you that I want you to go in peace and see your sister, Mindy, who died right before I adopted you.
At the mention of your sister, I could see something glimmer in your eyes. I told you that you are going to Mindy and you’re going to have a great time with your sister who loves you.
I promised I would have a funeral for you and keep your ashes with me always. I kept telling you I loved you, and then I looked at the time and saw it was almost half-past one.
Not even being fully present during your death, my dumb ass decided to call the vet in the middle of your last gasps on earth to tell him not to come since you were dying.
Once I was done fumbling with the phone, I looked at you and saw that the throes had stopped. I wasn’t sure if you were still alive. Your stomach wasn’t moving but I felt a little inhalation when I touched your nostrils, or it could have been my imagination. I have no idea.
At 1:33 pm, I knew you were dead. I took you out of the carrier, your paws were stuck under your chin. It didn’t seem very comfortable. I laid you on your side on the coffee table and pet your body and examined you. Your eyes were still open and looked glossy and far away.
I was in complete shock at seeing your body like this, empty of life, looking like a taxidermied animal since you were so still, your face looked a lot more peaceful on your side than it did in the carrier. I truly hoped you were are peace now.
I talked to your body, cried, looked at social media, pulled up all the pictures I took of you. I even took a video of your dead body on the coffee table, not sure if I would keep the footage or if it would be too sad to keep.
I am glad I took the video. Sometimes, most times, the video is too sad to watch, and sometimes it is comforting because I miss you and want to remember every last minute that you were still with me, even if it was just your dead body.
The pain of losing you is immense and I don’t know how I will continue on. The way you died was really fucked up and I am having a hard time forgiving myself for all that went wrong.
I know that you forgive me because all you ever cared about was loving and being loved. Know that I love you and will keep your bundle of ashes next to me always. Your spirit is always welcome in our home. And I want you to be happy and at peace.
I love you very much, Mark. Thank you for being my cat child for 10 years. Thank you for teaching me to be a better and more patient human. Thank you for reconnecting me to death and teaching me about life.
You’re a good boy, Mark and I am very lucky to have you in my life, in physical form and now in spirit form.
Thank you.
Your mother,
Tracy.3
