I won’t forget a single day…

I had to say goodbye to Bronan on Monday. We found out he had hyperthyroidism a few weeks ago. Shortly after I noticed changes in Bronan that led us back to vet. We discovered fluid in his stomach and that his kidneys were in trouble. Bronan had lymphoma. At 19 with diabetes & hyperthyroidism surgery or radiation were not option. The vet gave him injections to relieve symptoms, but told me he didn’t have long. I got another 11 days with him. He stopped eating or drinking at the weekend and it was clear that prolonging his life would be for my benefit rather than his. I’m heartbroken. My home feels so empty without him.

I adopted him from a friend. A change in her circumstances hadn’t agreed with him. She had him & his sister, but he didn’t always love sharing with her. He was home the moment he stepped out of his carrier. He thrived having his domain and me to himself. Always his own man, he came for cuddles when he wanted, wandered his territory as he pleased and demanded my attention as he saw fit. Be that insisting on having breakfast at 6am every day or waking me in the middle of the night because he required a chin rub. He’s had me at his beck & call from the first and I have loved every second of it.

We had a perfect bond. He fit into my life seamlessly. Our personalities matched. A little bit fierce, with a soft belly beneath. He guarded his space fearlessly, no cat, dog or fox was permitted in his garden. He saved his greatest vexation for the Magpies. A foe he hated so much they had their own annoyed meow. Yet, he didn’t kill. Nor did he turn his frustration on people. He never bit or scratched, always gentle for such a big boy. Always easy. He’d appear from a hedge or behind a sofa when I called. He cared not a jot about the twice daily insulin injections he needed in the last few years. My boy charmed everyone who met him. With his handsome face and gentle giant ways. He even learned to love kids. Once wary, he made friends with my little ones. Becoming best of friends with one of nieces, who wanted to visit purely to see him.

Bronan embodies so many of the things I love about cats. He lived on his own terms. Doing exactly as he pleased; bending me to his will. He was independent, lacked patience, had no respect for personal space or any rules I tried to enforce. He could say fuck you with the tiniest narrowing of his eyes. All of which made his choice to love me more satisfying. He didn’t blindly obey or love me unconditionally. He cared for me because he wanted to. I earned his trust & respect. It was a privilege to have it.

More than anything he was part of my healing. He came to me near the beginning of a journey. Joined me in this house that has become a real home. He’s been my companion when I couldn’t bear to see another living being. Somehow he understood me. When my pain is too much he’d let me off easy. He’d lie quietly with me, requiring nothing, soothing me with his purrs. When my mind was troubled, he knew and responded with affection. My boy has aided in the making of huge decisions just by his presence in my life. He has eased my heart when it was shattered by loss. Listened to my tears, singing and the thoughts I only voiced to him.

Bronan is a dream and I will miss him more than I can say. I’ll miss him sleeping on my feet, keeping them warm. I’ll miss the taps on my face when his meows don’t wake me. The sound of his steps on the wooden floor, the way he announces himself with a shout when he comes in his cat flap. I’ll miss being the only person allowed to rub his fluffy belly. I will miss giving him a running commentary of the day and the way he looks over his shoulder to check I am following when he leads me to what he wants. I’ll miss stroking his paws. The tiny white spot above his lip. His snores. The way he crunches & snorts when he eats. I’ll miss him. His attitude, his spirit, his love. All of him.

I feel like throwing my hands up in the air…

I have been catching up with And just like that & I’m having a lot of feelings. I know, I know, it’s a tv show. These people aren’t real. Except, they kind of are. A little bit.

S&TC caught me at just the right time. I started watching right before leaving home & starting uni. I continued through 18 to 24, prime discovering yourself, life & love years. I re-watched again & again, Carrie & the gals my trusted companions. It hasn’t all aged well, there’s some really dodgy shit. Plus sometime I don’t even like them; Carrie could be truly toxic things. But, I still love them. There was nothing else talking about the kind of female sexuality I was exploring in the late 90’s. There were little bits of myself & my friends in all of the fab four. I could relate to their sexual & romantic adventures. I knew the unbreakable bond of female friendship. Carrie was a writer with a penchant for the older man for goodness sake. Then of course it was all so much more glamorous than my life. They were running around Manhattan in Manolos, whilst I could barely afford Malboro lights & rent on my dodgy student flats. We were both hiding our broken hearts in a haze of smoke & high heels, though. Fantasy wrapped up in just enough reality to capture my heart.

So, I loved them. I felt like I knew them inside out. Both the characters & the all the fragments of real people I saw in them. I have twenty odd years invested in these tv people. That’s crying on the sofa, drinking cocktails with the girls, hungover Sundays, hours of explaining to stupid boyfriends why Aidan wasn’t right & so much more. I want them to be happy. Real life is perilous on the happy ending front, but when last we saw Carrie & Co is was as close to a fairy tale as you get in NYC.

Miranda, Carrie, Charlotte & Samantha in coats walking in the street

I awaited this re boot with trepidation. There was never any chance of me not partaking, but I was worried. I feared they’d mess it all up. Successful drama needs conflict and I didn’t want my middle aged babes involved in any of that. They almost killed me with that first episode. I was always rooting for Big, even when he was a total fuckwit. I wanted Carrie & John to grow old together in harmony. Given what we found out about Chris Noth, it’s just as well they killed him off (but I can still mourn the character, right?). We also had Samantha’s absence to deal with. That empty chair at the restaurant. Those flowers at the funeral. It’s heartbreaking. I’m 41 now, I know those female bonds aren’t always so indestructible, but this is fantasy. Samantha would never have had such a silly huff. Two hard blows right from the kick off. The rest are good. I can take it.

Then comes Che and all bets are off. All of sudden I’m supposed to believe that Steve can’t make Miranda cum? The Steve that knew how to get her off from night one? They make him some lame guy who can’t finger his wife. Now Miranda is running off to surprise Che, who will almost certainly be screwing someone else when she gets there. I don’t want this. I want my loyal cynical Miranda with her sweet, loving Steve. I’m taking this betrayal personally.

That’s before I even touch on how they handled Stanford’s exit. Carrie going on dates or that hideous new apartment. Thank god for Charlotte & Harry. I hope. I may be a bit more jaded and lot less likely to fall head over heels, but I can’t take it if all those happily ever afters fall apart. Make believe is supposed to offer some escapism. Will no one think of the ageing romantics?

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