In just a few days, I’m getting a new phone. Yes, this is a blog about cats and no, this isn’t some sort of weird sponsored post. This is going somewhere directly related to pet loss grief. This story is relevant so hang in there.
I got my current phone in 2019 and splurged on one with an upgraded camera because I wanted to take more pictures of Zoloft. I wanted them to be quality photos because I figured I’d appreciate them one day when he was gone. Great job, past Joey, because I do appreciate every single photo I have of him.
When Zoloft passed last year, I had already noticed that my phone’s battery wasn’t quite lasting as long as it had when I first got it. However, it has gotten to the point where it won’t last a full day with average usage. I have to charge it at every possible opportunity or it may crap out on me when I’m out and about. It’s become increasingly clear I either need to replace the battery or get a new phone.
The Sting Of A Lost Connection
Getting a new phone seems like the obvious choice at this point because I might as well put the money I’d spend replacing the battery toward something new. As I’ve thought about upgrading my phone, it didn’t come with the excitement I usually experience from a piece of shiny new technology. Instead, I’ve felt a weird emptiness.
While it is my phone, the reason I’ve found it so tough is that the camera took pictures of Zoloft. The light reflecting off him passed through the lens of the camera and imprinted on the chips inside and is now stored in photos of him. The phone was here while he was. He touched it. He touched the case. My case has been falling apart since June and I haven’t gotten a new one because he touched it.
If I get a new phone, it will have photos of him once I transfer some to the phone, but it can’t take a photo of him. That’s really hard to think about.
Not The First Thing I Found Tough
My phone isn’t directly connected to Zoloft like all the cat things I still have, but it was still something that I had while he was around. Trading it in feels like yet one more connection to him that is going away.
I’ve thrown out or donated many things over the last year that were around while Zoloft was. When I first noticed that some of them were hard to throw away, I didn’t quite make the connection. After all, cats don’t need to shower so why would I care that I had to get a new shower liner?
Oh. Well, if I think about it I guess he’d climb between the shower curtain and liner while I showered at least once a week. I miss him doing that. Maybe there is a connection there…
When I got a new one, he won’t have done it with that specific shower liner. He didn’t touch the new liner. One more thing gone.
The air filter that filtered his fur. The plant that died, but he pawed at while both were alive. The couch cushion foam he never directly touched but rested on through a cover. There was a connection to each of these things and him, however loose it was.
Even things without a direct connection to him that he never interacted with felt so weird to toss out. The broken pot he never touched? That stings. A lightbulb I had, but didn’t put in a lamp so it was never even used to shine light on him? Basically throwing him in the trash. At least when I disposed of his litter box (or had my mom do it because I couldn’t) it made sense that it was hard to get rid of.
Even Things He Didn’t Like
The things that were neutral objects that simply existed when he did weren’t as perplexing as the things he actively didn’t like. While I love my robot vacuum, I named it Zoloft’s Arch Nemesis because he would hiss at it when it would operate. Still, cleaning that filter and replacing one of the brushes…
Then there was my car. It has been a year and a half of expensive and challenging losses. In the spring, my car began having an absurd amount of mechanical issues. It was at the point where every repair would cost me a few hundred dollars so the signs were clear: time to get a new one.
Zoloft hated the car. He would let out this terrible meow that broke my heart unless he had some gabapentin in him. Still, that car was with me through my first job out of college, undergrad, and my first job working after completing grad school. It was what I drove to meet Zoloft for the first time and it took us to the vet to make sure he was healthy. It transported us safely to and from my parents’ for holidays. It helped me bring him to a new home to create more memories in a new place together twice.
It took us to the appointment where they found the cancer. To treatments. To the hospital for the final time. I brought him home for his final rest in that car.
Everything Is A Loss
When you bond deeply with a cat (or person or dog or anything else because this applies to more than just cats), they become a crucial part of your world. Everything in your life is connected to them from the moment you bring them home to your final goodbye. Heck, even after their final goodbye they still remain with you for the rest of your life.
So those things that don’t seem directly related to your cat but you still find you can’t get rid of? They may stir up memories of your life together because they are connected to your cat indirectly. Not everything will cause your eyes to leak. There’s plenty of things I had while Zoloft was around that I tossed out without a second thought, but some strange things were tough to throw away.
Logic Is Irrelevant
It doesn’t matter if logically it makes sense to be attached to the object. I fully recognize that a phone that is failing on me isn’t a thing to be attached to. It’s still hard for illogical reasons. Those reasons still need to be acknowledged.
It’s okay if you find getting rid of a shower liner or used air filter to be hard. Same goes for litter boxes or parts from scary vacuums. Grief is weird and anything that connects you to your cat is precious.
Mixed Emotions Are Okay
Back to my new phone because I know you’re all worried about that. I still have a bit before I actually make the swap. For now, I’m still stuck with frequent charging and slightly out of date technology.
As much as I’d love to maintain every single connection I can to Zoloft, I will be getting a new phone in a few days. All the photos and memories from our time are already off the phone so I have the important, tangible things that still maintain the meaningful connections to him. There is definitely a lot of mixed emotions with this upgrade, but I know it won’t be long before I transfer photos of him to the new phone and take plenty of new photos of his younger brothers.
If you’re finding it tough to get rid of something connected to your cat, take your time. Grief has no timeline. If you can’t part with something now and it’s not a health or safety hazard, set it aside. You’ll be ready one day. Even once it’s gone, your cat’s memory will still be there.
