AisKara's Thoughts

There’s no way I ever thought I would be writing a part two to this thought so soon. I could never have imagined that 2026 would start off this bad.

Almost 1 month to the day, I had to put down my cat, Target. I knew it was coming, he had been slowly accumulating health problems over the past two years, but I kept telling myself that we had more time.

I guess that’s what happens when you watch your best friend of 16 years slowly dying, the denial phase of grief sets in early. You don’t want to believe that what you can plainly see happening in front of you is happening. You know that every time you pet him, you can feel more and more of his spine. You can see that he can’t walk as well anymore. You can see that he’s not bathing himself as much as he used to. Not playing with his favourite toys anymore. Yet, despite all of this, you search for solutions. You search for ways to make him better, to give you more time with him. I searched for ways to make him better, to give me more time with him.

But there’s only so much that modern medicine can do. I knew when the vet said the words “palliative care” to me in December that I was running out of time with my little man, but I didn’t think that it would be so soon. I thought the medication would keep him around at least a little bit longer.

Target had been with me for 16 years. My girlfriend, Sabrina, ever the fan of Philip Pullman, always said that Target was my Dæmon. Knowing my own connection to pagan beliefs, she also called him my familiar. She joked that I loved Target more than I love her. While I wouldn’t go so far as to agree with the last statement, the other two feel true. From the first time Target’s eyes met mine, I felt like a piece of my soul had finally come back to me. Now it feels like it’s been ripped away. Sabrina said over the years that she dreaded the day something would happen to Target, the inevitability of his old age creeping up on us, and now I see what she meant.

Target was, almost quite literally, thrown into my life. One day, while my mom was still working as a pet groomer, the husband of the woman who owned the salon walked in with this tiny little ginger kitten. Apparently, while he was driving to the salon, someone threw the kitten out of their car window on one of the main streets in my area where the speed limit is 70 Km/h. My mom, ever the animal lover, offered to take the kitten home temporarily. We were never supposed to keep him, we already had 6 cats at home, but as soon as my mom walked in the door with that kitten who would be my Target, I knew that I wasn’t letting his stay with me be temporary.

Target was a ginger cat to a fault. He got his name because the tabby pattern on his sides looked like the concentric circles of an archery target, and I was (and still am) majorly into archery. He loved to play, he loved to cuddle, he definitely didn’t have the shared ginger cat braincell very often, but he made up for it in spades. His absolute favourite thing to do was to lick my nose. He would have spent hours licking my nose if I’d have let him. Now I just wish I could have him do it one more time. His other favourite thing to do was to roll around in the grass in the spring and summer, and chew on any grass tall enough for him to reach.

Target was always my shadow. Wherever I went, he followed. Unlike all of my other cats, he slept in my bed with me every night, something only one other cat had ever done with me. When I was watching tv, he was sitting purring on my lap. He was stuck to me, and I loved him so much.

I thought that losing my grandad to murder earlier this month broke me. That was absolutely devastating. Yet, there’s something about living so far from him that made it… not easier, but not as hard? With Target, everything I see around my house reminds me of him. I hear the basement door creak open, and I still think I’m going to see him walk up to me. I turn on the sink in the bathroom, and I still find myself waiting for him to come jump up and drink water straight from the faucet like the adorable little weirdo he was. Hell, I broke down crying last night because I was doing the litter for my other cat, and I realized it would be the last time I would be cleaning up Target’s messes.

When a loss like this is in your home, how do you get over it? For the past month I’ve had people tell me that the loss of my grandad would get easier over time, but honestly, that’s the biggest load of crap I’ve heard. Whoever said that grief gets easier doesn’t know what they’re talking about. How can grief get easier when we’re forced to ignore it? I can’t grieve because I have to go to work everyday and pretend that I’m okay. I can’t grieve because I have to go out and run errands and try not to cry in public when I see something that reminds me of my grandad or Target.

How are we supposed to process grief and grow from it (I hesitate to say move on, because I don’t think we ever really move on), when society doesn’t allow us the space and time to be able to grieve? How are we supposed to grieve when those of us who need more time to do so are seen as problems in the eyes of society, of employers, of friends, of family? How are we supposed to move on from grief when the resources that could help us do so cost more than we can afford?

I don’t know, maybe I’m rambling at this point. I guess what I’m trying to say is that I miss you grandad, and I miss you Target, and I don’t know how I’m going to move on from either of your losses. I’m at the point where I kind of just want to disappear from the world. A Facebook post I saw earlier today sums it up perfectly;

I don’t want death – but I’m tired of living. I’m not looking for an end, just a pause to catch my breath.

I need 2026 to give me that pause. I need 2026 to cut me some slack now. I need someone to come and pull me out of the deep end, because I can feel myself going under, and I’m not sure how much longer I can hold my breath. I just hope someone saves me in time…