My Cat And Sobriety

The loss of a pet. The loss of a friend.

Gracie

(Trigger Warning: This post describes a suicide attempt. If you are experiencing ideas of suicide please call 988, the Suicide And Crisis Lifeline. You are not alone.)

My heart is very sad for me today. I had to send Gracie over the rainbow bridge recently. She was my little pumpkin; A sweet black and white tuxedo cat with a little black heart on her nose. I called her Meow! Meow!, Princess Gracie-Face, and Precious Baby Girl. Even as I write this, tears are filling my eyes.

“Is that it?” you may say “Just a cat?”

Just a cat. Just a furry ball of purring love who used to greet me at the door every day when I came home. She would flop on her back like a dog, looking for a belly rub. Just a comforting little warm body who used to snuggle next to me in bed every night, all night, for almost 19 years. Just an integral part of my morning routine; wake-up, shut off the alarm, stumble to the kitchen, change her water out, scoop cat food out of the tin into her bowl and place it in the microwave for exactly 10 seconds. Every single day…till now.

Gracie acrylic painting by Marnie Ritch

She came to me as a tiny kitten, small enough to fit in the palm of my hand. As I reached into the box to pick her up, she hissed at me and spat. Her tiny claws swiped at my fingers.

“Oh, you’re going to need some extra loving.”

I told her with amusement. I shortly named her Gracie after the grace that was given to unlovable me by my patient Higher Power.

She was a constant through my first year of sobriety and subsequent relapse. In a roundabout way, she saved my life;

I went on a trip. The man I had been seeing at the time looked after Gracie and her brother while I was away. This man politely broke up with me over the phone when I returned. I also lost my job just prior to embarking on this brief vacation. I was restless, irritable and discontent before any of this occurred. I had stopped attending 12-step meetings. When these two events happened, almost back to back, I gave up completely. I bought a bottle of whiskey and some yummy coffee creamer to mix and make the alcohol go down quickly. I also purchased a couple of boxes of sleeping pills. When I got home from the store, my now ex-lover called and said that he would like to bring the cats back soon. I was vague and didn’t give him a definite answer as to a good time for this. After we hung up, I drank all the whiskey and took as many of the pills as I could swallow. Something about the tone of my voice or my apathetic answer must have clued him into the fact that something was up. He had a key to my apartment and shortly came by with the cats. He found me unconscious and sprawled out on the floor. Immediately, he called the paramedics. He and the cats saved my life.

This incident sparked my return to the 12-step world full force. When I got home from the hospital, I shakily stood in my apartment. Just me, my cats and my despair. I remember looking at one of the stark, white walls of my apartment, thinking about the sober women I had met during my time in 12 step rooms. I thought about their smiles, laughter, and easy confidence. They seemed comfortable in their own skin. All traits I definitely lacked. Words came into my reverie, from I don’t know where. They said simply, “Maybe I’m worth it.” The thought surprised me, but I followed it. Maybe I’m worth the joy I saw in their eyes, the self assurance I heard in their words and their spiritual serenity. Maybe if I attended their meetings regularly, asked for help and did the required soul-searching work, I could achieve what they have; peace of mind.

My cat sat silently in the living room during this spiritual experience. She and her brother were the only witnesses to that life-changing decision.

Procreate drawing of my girl by me

I did attend meetings regularly. I did reach out, and I did the necessary work to the best of my ability. My cat lay on my lap while I wrote out the process of the 12 steps many times over the years. She quietly sat by while I poured out my heart almost daily to my patient sponsor. She reaped benefits from a sober kitty-momma. I fed her every morning and evening, scooped her litter box regularly, and took her to the vet for the required appointments. She purred next to me as I walked through the loss of her brother, psychiatric challenges and the beginning and ending of a short, but turbulent, marriage. Gracie and God have been the constant in my life for almost two decades. She silently supported me, comforted me, and gave me structure. 

Now…she’s gone, with only a clay paw print and her name printed on the bottom to remember her.

There’s a big empty spot in my heart. I still look for her on the bed when I walk into the room. (This was her favorite place at the end.) I share at meetings about her absence from life and my feelings about  it. Most people there can relate to the loss of a fur-baby and its ensuing pain. I walk soberly through one more loss. This time I have my boyfriend and our new puppy by my side. As always, I have God with me, who comforts me and tells me He’s proud of me for giving this feline friend a good, steady, long life through almost 17 years of sobriety.