Information

Sasha has a minion!

Siryn the Sleeping Nazzy

Sasha

The

Custom Angelic Feli
Owner: Estinien

Age: 4 years, 8 months, 2 days

Born: July 15th, 2021

Adopted: 4 years, 8 months, 2 days ago

Adopted: July 15th, 2021

This pet has been nominated for the Pet Spotlight!

Statistics

Level: 1
Strength: 10
Defense: 10
Speed: 10
Health: 10
HP: 10/10
Intelligence: 0
Books Read: 0
Food Eaten: 0
Job: Unemployed

I never thought that I would be a cat person. I'm glad life has proven otherwise.

It's gonna get a little sad before it gets sweet. but it'll get there. And like all memorials, it'll be sad again, but end on a happier note. Neither sadness nor joy last forever.

As a kid, my mom hated cats with a passion. It was kinda comical really, right up there with her hatred of "trashy" food like hamburger helper and the concept of treating me like a person. So the options of what kind of pet I wanted were basically cut in half, save for wanting a hamster.

Got the hamster, and somehow also got a dog--twice. My mom changed her mind about the whole dog thing twice, too, and even managed to convince me it was my fault both times. The one that really hurt was a Maltese named Sasha; I'd had her the longest and my mom threw the biggest fit over wanting her gone.

To put it lightly, I've never really had a pet to call my own.

So smash cut to 2017: I fled across the country to get away from my family and moved in with my third set of roommates in 3 years. I finally settle in, living on their couch until we could switch to a larger apartment. (It was better than the mattress pad on the floor at the last place. Don't worry, I got my own room and bed less than a year later.)

And with that came Sasha.

She was an old dilute tortie, mean as hell, but immediately chose me as her person. I was barely there two weeks when she decided that my lap and chest were the only places she wanted to be and I had no say in the matter otherwise.

I like to believe that little coincidences like her name are a sign I'm in the right place. And I was.

See, I'd learned to really like cats after living with my previous roommates; I realized my mom was wrong about a lot of things. But still, they were my roommates' cats, not mine. Sasha was still my friend's cat first and foremost, but when you make that connection with a pet, it changes you.

Being loved on purpose still feels weird to me today. But, it's hard to think otherwise when Sasha would make eye contact with me from across the house and claw her way up to my shoulder within seconds. I often couldn't hear the TV over how loudly she would purr.

For five years, she was my friend. She'd growl at the other cats, scream at the feral toms outside, and then fall asleep next to me on the couch as peaceful as can be. Her daughter, Siryn, is just as opinionated and stubborn as she was.

We really thought she would be the cat to live to be 20; her spite and spirit gave us no reason to think otherwise.

But her body started slowing down. It was hard for her to walk sometimes, and she finally accepted my help to lift her into my lap. She still had mostly good days. In early July 2021, at age 13, she took a turn.

She got sick and she started declining fast. I won't go into the heavy details--not for my sake or yours, but for hers. Sasha would have been far too proud to admit it.

I've heard people say that pets can give you this look when they know it's their time. That you both just know together. Since I've never really bonded with a pet until her, I didn't really buy it. But the next night, she looked me in the eyes and I felt it. She politely asked for mercy. In all the years I've known her, she'd never seemed that vulnerable. It broke me, but I knew that it was my turn to be strong for her instead.

The day before we put her to rest, she gave me a goodbye in the way only she could. I had her in my lap, but she must have turned and slipped because suddenly she latched her teeth and claws into my hand for support. I quickly righted her, but she bit HARD, all across my left hand. Puncture marks and deep scratches.

After she was laid to rest, it took longer for the wounds in my heart than on my hand to heal. But it was almost funny--she forced me to look after my self when I didn't want to.

And I couldn't even be mad. How could I? I still have two small scars on my hand today, between my thumb and pointer finger, where her canines got me.

I literally can't forget Sasha: I carry her with me everywhere I go.

She taught me a lot about grief and goodbyes. I thought I knew a lot already, having uprooted my entire life and cutting off everyone I ever knew for my own safety. Bouncing from place to place, job to job, friend group to friend group, and never really getting closure on anything. My therapist called it ambiguous grief--mourning people who are still alive and well.

I know a lot about that, but death is truly final. She taught me that everyone deserves an ending with dignity and comfort. That there will be times you'll be sobbing about a future you won't have together, but then can smile fondly at the time you did share.

Grief is just love in past tense.

Call me sappy, but the kind of pure, innocent love that only an animal can give has changed me for the better. Three years later and my life has improved beyond belief.

I live with just my best friend now and moved closer to the rest of our friend group. I even welcomed a new cat into my life--Miles.

And if the grief is never ending, then so must be the love. Love is in the past, present, and future tense all at once.

Sure is ironic that such an angry, spiteful bastard of a cat taught me all of that. I'm glad for it all the same.

Thank you, Sasha.

Don't get into too much trouble across that rainbow bridge. Try to at least be nice to Nessa and Omega, OK?

I love you.

Just this side of heaven is a place called Rainbow Bridge.
July 15, 2021, 11:10am.