Losing Eddy

Yesterday was a horrible day. It started with the realisation that it had been almost exactly a year since a friend of mine passed away unexpectedly. With reverent thoughts, I got up, got dressed and left the house with my boyfriend. We didn’t even get as far as the car before seeing what was obviously a dead animal at the side of the road. For a moment, I didn’t know quite what to think, couldn’t process my thoughts properly, but when I heard the words “It’s Eddy”, I ran back to the house as fast as I could, desperately trying to blot out what I’d just seen. It felt dreamlike, utterly surreal.

I should say a little about Ted and just why he was so special, not just to us but why he was actually really special. He was, essentially, a failed genetic experiment; a cross-breed between a Tonkinese and a Bengal. They are two very individual types of cat and ordinarily never the two shall meet but in this case they did and Eddy was one of around only seven of the results. He was mischevous, inteligent, loud, obnoxious, unruly, destructive, loving, attentive, hilarious and utterly fearless. The latter characteristic is unfortunately what he will probably be best remembered for and also what proved to be his downfall.
We inherited Eddy from a couple of friends who lived in a London flat and were unable to keep him in such a restrictive environment. Eddy was a cat that needed the freedom to roam around and get into trouble, and he did just that in spades. Integrating him into a household that already included two other cats wasn’t easy but after a week or two it was if he’d always been there and the three became firm friends who fought with, loved, looked out for, played with, cleaned and cuddled up with one another.

Some people have never had a pet and will never be able to understand the pain that a person goes through when that pet is hurt, or worse still, killed. It’s almost 36 hours later and I still feel heartbroken, swinging periodically between fits of aching melancholoy and just feeling utterly numb and devoid of any kind of emotion. The house feels different somehow and I keep seeing things in the corner of my eye that I expect to be him. I already miss him jumping at the curtains, opening the cupboards by himself, climbing on the mantelpiece, leaping in the air, lunging at my face whilst high on catnip, jumping at the bathroom light switch, forcing his way through closed doors, sticking his tongue out when I scratched that specific spot behind his ears, chasing after us when we left the house and greeting us with his unusual meow. His passing has left such a terrible void in the house and in all of us.

Since it happened I’ve been through several scenarios in my head, unnecessarily torturous as it may be to do so. Initially I felt distraght and hysterical. Now I feel guilt for not being able to protect him. I feel angry at the person who hit him with their car. I feel bad for feeling angry as it was almost certainly an accident and could have happened to anyone. I feel grateful that I still have two cats. I feel sad that he was only alive for 18 months and will never grow old. I feel regret at not having taken more photos of him or given him more hugs when I had the chance. Mostly I just feel incredibly unhappy that I won’t get to spend anymore time with him.

I take some small comfort from the vets insistence that his death was instant and that the creature I saw on the ground, matted wet fur, rigid limbs, open mouth, wasn’t Eddy at all. It was merely his casing, his shell. The essence of what made Eddy Eddy had left hours previously and to the religious-minded, had gone to a much better place. When I think of him it’s difficult to push that horrific final image to the back of my mind but over time I’ll be able to forget it and replace it with images of the way we knew him; with boundless energy and a cheeky, curious demeanor.

Our remaining two cats sit around the house, unable to settle and seemingly take turns to look for their departed friend. It’s heartbreaking to watch but they, like us, will feel better over time. Working from home means that I spend the majority of my time with my cats and they’re equal parts loyal companions, friends and as-good-as family members. Lord knows, sometimes I would much rather spend my time with a cat than a human, they’re cuter, more forgiving, less judgmental and for the most part, are better for hugs.

I’ll miss Eddy forever but I’m so glad I got to know him. He was a special little chap and touched the hearts of so many other people (and animals) so his loss is a great one. I like to think that he was happy here and he certainly made us happy, no question at all. Most people will never get to meet a cat as great as Eddy so I feel fortunate that I knew him for this short time. 

Eddy, TedTed, Tedward, Edwardo, Teddybear, rest in peace and try not to cause too much trouble wherever you are now. You are absolutely irreplaceable and will be sorely missed.