TW: Pet death

Yes, this is a vent, but don't worry! Focus on the art and the storytelling, because that's part of the why I made this; I'm proud of it, it's my first animatic (and surprisingly, I got it done in one setting! The sketchy lineart really speeds up the process).

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Tommorrow is the second anniversary of the death of my cat, Zelda (February 22nd, 2022). She was my best friend, and out of the animals we've had over the years, she was always my favorite. I knew she loved me too; everytime I would pet or touch her, she would meow loudly, and an iconic thing I would do is I would lay my head on her belly, and she would start purring. I could hear it when I did so. One time, I even put a cat bed in my room so we could be together more often. The first night I layed it down, she slept in it, and I had had my Christmas tree light on, it changing colors.

Seemingly, nothing had been wrong with her for as long as we've had her. Her death so sudden. It is predicted that she might've had a heart attack; maybe because of her weight, or an undiscovered health issue. All of us were out of the house when it happened, and I was at school.

I remember coming out of school that day, not a care in the world. I was in seventh grade, and I had friends that I talked to back then. When I got to the car, everyone had tears in their eyes, silently staring at me. I was confused: "What happened? What's wrong?"

"Zelda's dead."

A common response to grief or a sudden event is denial. That's exactly what my brain did; it cleared out entirely, everything numb, not a single thought in my head. I managed to make myself not believe it, until we got home, and my mom showed me the room she was in.

On a towel, sprawled out like she used to do whenever I would lay on her. In fact, I did exactly that when I was left alone with her - and what I was usually met with, rumbling purring and warmth, was replaced with not a single sound. Cold. Completely motionless.

My mind still wouldn't accept it. I don't know how long I was with her for, but it took a long time for me to be able to get out any words. Those words being: "I'm sorry."

Because I wasn't there. While I was enjoying myself at school, Zelda died completely alone. Usually, animals get to die in their owners arms, and around their family. But nobody was there for her.

Wrapping her up in the same towel, we took her to the vet to get her cremated. I got to hold her while we drove there. We waited in the room, where when the lady came in, I was the one to give her away, one last time. To this day, that single action of me letting her go never leaves me memory. Each time I remember the scenes of February 22nd, 2022, it always pains me the most to remember that I was the one to let her go.

Now she sits on my shelf, her ashes in a neat little box, with a picture of her on top. There's also her food bowel with her imprinted paw print sitting on top.

I don't know why, but I avoid looking at it as much as I can. It collects dust, but I can't bear to look at it, to remember everything, and that she's in that box in the first place because I let her go. Every mention of her, everytime I walk past something and I swear I can see her, only to look back and find that's it just a heap of clothes or towels, stings me in the heart. I'm supposed to be remembering the good times, but how can I, when each time I feel guilt?

I know there's no life after death. But when I'm vulnerable like this, my inner conscience comforts me with the idea that one day, I'll see her again on the other side. I've been told about a rainbow bridge. If I'm in heaven, and she's over there, would I be allowed to reunite with her? Would she decide if I come over? I hope she would let me. Oh Zelda...

take me with you.

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Song:    • JW Francis – John, Take Me With You