I still remember the first day I got Oliver. I was on the way to my very first violen lessen in the 4th grade. We had extra time so we stopped by Wal-Mart. That's when I saw him. The fluffiest, orangest, sweetest little kitten I had ever saw. Unbelievably, my mom let me have him. We left Oliver with the people while we went inside to pick up supplies for him. We took him to my lessen and he slept while I screeched the violen. We took him home and watched him play with the dandelions and bugs. He played with the dogs and he climbed trees. He crawled in my violen case and listened to me try to play - never once complaining. I loved him with all my heart.
My sister and I took turns letting him sleep in our beds at night. He laid on his back in my arms. I remember when we used to dress him in doll clothes and push him around in a toy stroller while he licked the milk off of the nipple of a bottle.
Yes, I have to say, since I was homeschooled at the time and didn't know any kids my age, he was my very first best friend. I told him secrets, cried in his fur, and kissed his little face when I was upset. He made everything seem better. He could always tell when I was crying or upset. He would crawl on the back of the couch and lay his head on mine, or sometimes just sit on the floor looking up at me with those beautiful golden eyes. Whatever he did, he made me feel better.
Over time, we obtained two more cats to our household, and even though he would act like he hated them in front of us, when he thought we weren't looking, he would play with them and sleep next to them. He was a very gentle and loving cat - to say the least.
When I was 14, we moved to a house in the next city over. It was out in the country and we figured all of our pets would be safe there, and they were, until they started wanting to go in the cow field across the street. When the farmer sold all of his cows, he decided to let the grass grow very tall; something cats love. I never thought that would be what brought the death of my dear Oliver. Between the coyotes and the woods back behind our house, and our neighbor whom had already shot one of our cats, I never thought something like that would be the death of him, considering how street-wise Oliver had always been at our old house.
On the morning of May 23, 2003, It was a regular Friday. I'm in chorus, so I was excited about singing in the graduation that afternoon, and it being my last day of school. Everything seemed normal that morning, except for the fact I had the most terrifying dream the night before. I dreamt a pack of black coyotes were trying to kill Oliver (We had spotted a coyote in our yard a few days earlier, which my dog, Susie, chased away). I awoke when I heard Susie barking at something in the front yard near the road, yet I went back to sleep anyways. Normally, I don't ignore signs like that, but yet, somehow, I stupidly went back to sleep anyways. (I'm still struggling with the guilt of feeling like it was all my fault - a careless mistake.) Anyways, we got in the car at 7:25 and started to make our way up the road, when I saw him, Oliver, laying dead in the road. I couldn't see his face, but I could tell by his orange color and fluffy tail it was him. I started to scream "Oh dear God no! Oh dear God no!" and soon after, my mom and sister did too. We turned around immediatly and went home. We ran in the house and met my dad who at first assumed it was my puppy we saw. They cried. I say they because I did more than cry. I can't explain the feeling. Unlike my sister, who cried for a few minutes and went on the school, I moaned, screamed, bawled, and morned for my beloved Oliver for 3 hours. I don't think I have ever felt pain like that. My heart ached, my head was pounding, and I couldn't breathe. I felt like the world as I knew it had comed to a hault, and that this was a terrible nightmare. My dad burried Oliver at the edge of our woods and placed a large rock as a headstone next to him.
I didn't go to school that day until 3rd block (chorus). I didn't care if I looked like someone had punched me in the eyes, all I could do was think about Oliver. Several people asked me what was wrong, and to most of them my reply was "nothing". I knew that they just wouldn't understand. I knew that unless you have ever dearly loved an animal, and lost him, you just couldn't even imagine what it's like. To my surprise, my bestfriend didn't even seem to compassionate. It was one guy who actually knew what it was like to have your beloved pet killed. He told me the story of his cat's death, and how he cried. (This came to much shock to me, considering how he's one of those gothic guys.) I felt a little better, yet still lightly cried throughout the rest of the day.
I did my job and sang in graduation. I put on a fake smile and tried to get my mind around it. My friend and I went to one of the senior's good-bye party, and for a while, I laughed. But when I got in my mom's car on the way home, the thoughts started coming back and I cried again.
This is all yesturday, and I'm still crying over his death. (hey, I'm almost crying now just writing about it.) I don't know how long I will mourn over his death, or if I'll ever be able to get another cat. The best way for me to feel better is to write, write, and write about it. Looking at pictures of Oliver still hurts. Thinking about how right now he'd be in my lap or on my desk purring is killing me. But knowing that he doesn't feel anything, and that he's in heaven does help.
This is one of the toughest heart-aches I'll ever go through. No one can ever tell me that I'm being stupid for loving a cat so much as to mourn over him like I have - no one.
