12 hours and a bottle of Scotch later

12 hours and a bottle of Scotch later I don't feel much better, but it does sting less. To paraphrase Pink Floyd, Uncomfortably Numb isn't a bad description of how I feel tonight. I don't mind saying that today has been the hardest day of my life, and that's despite losing people who were especially close to me; a grandfather, a grandmother, and an uncle who I all admired greatly and who I miss acutely each day for one reason or another. I have trouble with change. I don't like it. I don't adjust well. I'm a hard ass Cynic-Stoic in the Classic and modern senses, and I'm sure some people think that I don't actually have a heart. And that may be true, until something cuts me to the core, and this has actually hurt me worse than any change I've ever had to deal with. My friends and family know that I wear my heart and my mind on my sleeve, and for anyone who is just getting to know me, it won't take long to figure that out.

I feel terrible for a lot of reasons, not the least of which is that a I wish I didn't feel so terrible. I feel like I failed my little buddy. I know I shouldn't, and I know I put too much upon myself, but that's just the way I am. I adopted my kitty, who's names ranged from Clarice, Burrito, and Poopy Cat from Second Chance Pet Adoptions in September, 2000. She was always "my cat," going so far as establishing a detente relationship with my ex-wife. That should have told me something, to be sure, when they didn't get along from day one. From my struggles with one thing or another, and though my divorce, my cat was the one constant that I could always rely on. When all else failed, when I was alone, I could always depend on my little buddy to cheer me up. I did the best I could by her, spoiling her and taking the best care I could, but that doesn't really comfort me yet. I know that it will, eventually, but my nature is to always to more than my best. My nature is to go above and beyond, to sacrifice more than I can afford, to spare no expense, to take care of those around me. This is a new feeling for me, and I don't like it.

I've cleared my apartment of all of her things, and I've stored things that I can reuse later when I decide to get another cat. I'm not one to beat around the bush or waste time. When it's time to get shit done, I move on it. But it hurts to see empty spaces where she used to nap, or where her bed was located. My apartment seems too large and empty now. I know that I'm not meant to be completely alone, no matter how much I am a misanthropic bastard, and I'll adopt another kitty in the future. It's too much in my nature to have someone to care for and spoil. But for now, I have to get over the loss of my friend who was with me though thick and thin, and who took care of me as much as I took care of her.

Aut viam inveniam aut faciam

I shall find a way or make one.

But that doesn't mean it won't hurt getting there.