It’s Not Your Fault

by Alexandria Gomes

TW: Pet Death, Mentions of Suicidal/Intrusive Thoughts, and some Derogatory Language

“I’m sorry. There’s nothing we can do.”

In that moment, the world completely stopped. At least, my world did. The real world would just move on with a cold indifference, nonchalantly shrugging its shoulders and saying, “Sucks to be you”. And sure yeah, it does “suck” in the eyes of the world. The veterinarian gave me the news that my 11-year-old black shorthair cat Midnight has an inoperable cancer tumor on the lower side of her abdomen and that it is affecting her respiratory system. But it does more than “suck”, it hurts. It aches. It stabs me directly into my heart and watching me bleed out, laughing at my meaningless attempts trying to keep all of this blood in, all of these emotions. My mom mutters “I didn’t think it would be this bad” as I walk out of the office. Outside, the busy veterinarians, young interns, and pet owners stroll past me, blissfully oblivious to what had happened in that room.

* * *

When I was in middle school, at around 12 or so, I got Midnight from an animal shelter. She was just a little black kitten with bright green eyes full of curiosity. When I first saw her, only seeing her eyes reflecting off of the light like peridots, shining in the dark corners of the kennel. She pawed at me, her claws catching on my Patriots hoodie.

“It looks like it chose you”, my grandpa said to me, smiling.

Her name was originally Chloe and that she was born sometime around August. I was brought into the bonding room, where there is toys for the animals to play with and the time to bond with people. The assistant was explaining to my grandpa about how the adoption process worked and the documents that needed to be signed. As a young kid, I didn’t understand what any of it meant, but she was nice enough to help me and my grandpa out.

I fondly remember grabbing a feather wand toy, swishing the brightly colored feather around to catch her attention. I watched the greens of her eyes slowly shrink as the pupils dilate, readying for the kill. As Midnight pounced on her “prey”, the assistant told my grandpa that she needed to be spayed and that she will be ready by Thursday.

At that point, Midnight was my seventh pet. Before I was born, my family had Boxer, a boxer dog. and Figaro, a tabby cat. When I was a young child, I faintly remember Sam, our male black lab. I might not have remembered him much, but my family did. My Aunt Lindsay talks about him like he was an angel, and he was, like how he used to perform tricks when I was a baby. Unfortunately, and so suddenly one day, Sam was hit by a car and died. Either I was too young to understand the concept of death or that I didn’t remember Sam’s death at all. Our second and third pets were Smokey and Oscar. Smokey was a male black shorthair cat, which you will see it as a pattern at this point, and Oscar was a male tuxedo. When I was four or five, I was pretty rough with the animals, but it wasn’t really malicious. I did not understand what I did wrong, and I had gotten scratched a lot. But despite that, the cats still loved me, at least with Smokey. Oscar was afraid of me, at least afraid of children in general, so he sometimes growled and hissed at me. My sixth pet was Princess, a female Yorkshire terrier. It was at this point I was seven or eight, as me, my mom, and my dad adopted her from some pet store in 2008 or 2009.

A couple of days later, just after I got out of school on Thursday, my grandma took me over to the animal shelter to pick Midnight up. When we got there, Midnight was waiting for us in a white cardboard carrier. She meowed relentlessly, scared and confused. I knew that the people of the animal shelter weren’t trying to hurt her in any way, but I couldn’t help but feel a small pang in my heart when hearing her cry. I stuck my finger in one of the holes on the side of the carrier to pet her, trying to comfort her to the best of my ability.

“It’s alright. You’re okay.”, I cooed.

* * *

After the veterinarian delivering the news that Midnight needs to be put down due to the tumors, I left the room. Trying to process this, I was devastated on the inside, but I have to keep a straight face on the outside. No need to make a scene, to cry hysterically and have people look at me funny. But my eyes and head hurt from the tears threatening to burst with the blinding pain pulsating behind my eyes. On the inside, it was slowly killing me like the cancer that is slowly killing Midnight. I had to call someone, anyone. First, I tried to call my boyfriend Kevin to relay the news to him, but I remember that he is currently working. I immediately hung up and decided to call my aunt Lindsay. The phone chimed, and chimed, and chimed. The seconds between the ringing—waiting for Lindsay to pick up—is agonizing. I couldn’t hold it in anymore. Once I heard Lindsay say “hello”, the waves came crashing down on me. Tears fiercely rush down my face. I am unable to stop the cascade. I could barely get the words out, like the words came out garbled with grief.

“Alex, what’s wrong? What happened?”, my aunt said on the other side of the phone.

“It-it’s Midnight! She’s so sick that-that we have to put her down!”, I screamed.

“Oh no.”, she said, giving me her sympathy.

She didn’t hate Midnight, but she didn’t particularly like her because she was “annoying” her with typical cat antics, like running into Lindsay’s room and hiding under her bed when Lindsay didn’t want her to. Despite all of that, she didn’t want to see me so heartbroken. She doesn’t know what to do. All she could say is “I didn’t expect this to happen. I’m so sorry.” I don’t blame her for it though. I don’t know what to do either. When I finally said those words, my mom immediately came out of the office. She held me in her arms as I endlessly wailed and wailed.

* * *

Over the years, life hasn’t gotten easier. During my high school years, at around 15, I have been suffering from depression. I have been dealing with intrusive suicidal thoughts, thinking about cutting myself open and ripping my guts out or going to the bathroom and taking a shitload of over-the-counter pills to the point where I collapse on the floor. Most of these thoughts are just hoping that I die a slow and painful death, believing that I deserve that kind of fate. I had been bullied in school, as if anyone hadn’t been in their entire life but it certainly adds to how I felt that my life didn’t matter.

To add on to my overall stress, my grandpa had gotten severely sick to the point where he had been sent to the hospital for god knows how many times. Half of the times he was hospitalized was at the Good Samaritan hospital in Brockton. I remembered when he said that he had died there three times. The house had been chaotic as well, and I had been in the crossfire. I got into arguments with my mom sometimes because she acts passive-aggressive towards me for no reason, though her reasoning was that I wasn’t doing enough around the house, and although she was also dealing with depression and the stress from work and home as well, it still wasn’t right for her treat me like that.

Grandpa wasn’t himself either. He yelled at people for the smallest things, especially towards me when I don’t do things the way he wants me to. He was just angry that he felt like he was wasting his own life and couldn’t do the things he wanted to, so he felt like he needed to take his anger on the people he cared about although it was his own fault that he did a terrible job taking care of himself. When I take out the overflowing trash out the kitchen trash bin, he would yell at me for missing some of the other trash or not doing it fast enough for his liking. I remember the time when he called me a “bitch” one time when I had enough of his bullshit. It felt like I had to walk on eggshells around my family.

But despite it all, Midnight was there at my lowest. While she didn’t understand what weight I had been holding on my shoulders, she was always there for me. It felt like she had given me a purpose, a reason to keep on going. I kept a routine when I had her. The routine gave me a sense of normalcy: feed her in the morning, clean her litter box, cuddle with her, do something I need to do for school/around the house, feed her in the evening, and then me and Midnight going to bed. Especially with cuddling with her, sharing the bed with her and hearing her purr with such contentment brought me a sense of peace amongst the chaos. She was not only a pet, but a friend. Whenever I spiraled into a depressive state, she would come up to me and curl up right next to me, giving me the opportunity to pet her. When I did pet her, her black fur was just as soft and warm as fleece blankets. It was a grounding technique for me, feeling like there is some control in my life. She always purred at my gentle touch. It was a very quiet purr, but it mattered so much to me. I loved her so much.

* * *

My mom and I sat in the lobby, preparing for the inevitable. My stomach churning with anxiety and my mind racing with thoughts. I knew this would happen. I just knew it ever since we walked into this animal clinic. I knew that something bad will happen to Midnight. And now, I have to say goodbye to her. But I am not ready to say goodbye. Not yet. It’s too soon. I don’t want her to leave me. I don’t want to be alone again.

Before getting Midnight ready to be euthanized, we wanted to get Midnight cremated so we can keep her in some way. The doctor showed us a brochure of the types of urns in various shapes and sizes. Some were ceramic, others were wooden, some were curved like vases, others were shaped, some were big, and some were small. We chose a medium-sized, wooden box-shaped urn that has a frame on it so we can put a picture of Midnight in it. At least it is some way for me to keep Midnight.

* * *

When I first discovered a lump on her stomach, my stomach dropped. I had to ask my mom to take us to the vet to see if we can get the lump checked out. I was terrified out of my mind that it was a cancerous tumor, but my mom dismissed my growing fears.

“Don’t worry about it. She’ll be fine.”, she passively said to me. “Everything will be okay.”

When she said that, it hurt me deeply. It hurts whenever she does that, simply brushing off my concerns like that. It made me feel like I was acting irrational over nothing. Maybe, in her mind, she was trying to help me calm down by acting cool about it and treat the lump on Midnight’s stomach as a nonissue. As much as she wanted to believe that everything is fine, it did not help me at all. No matter how much I tried not to let my thoughts spiral out of control, the thought that Midnight will die ate at me. Mom had called the Abington Animal Hospital to make an appointment for Midnight for Tuesday morning since she has day off on that day from work. By next morning, my mom and I took Midnight to the vet to have the lump inspected. The veterinarian there took us into the room and propped Midnight on the examination table. The veterinarian flipped her over on her back to feel up her abdomen. The veterinarian felt the lump on the lower left side, but she couldn’t tell if it was malignant or benign.

“When did you discover this lump?”, the veterinarian asked.

“I think about a couple of days ago.”, I said, anxiously peering down at my feet.

The veterinarian inspected the lump further. She asked us about the stool sample in the small Zip-Loc bag we had brought with us, to see if there’s anything she and her nurses could figure out in the laboratory. I gave it to her, hoping that the sample will give us some answers and at least a piece of mind for me.

“So far, I believe that the lump isn’t cancerous. The lump itself isn’t hard, but it is fatty. It is most likely just a regular fatty tumor.”, the veterinarian concluded.

My eyes are still stuck to the floor, still feeling unsatisfied with the answer. It felt like it was worse than it already is. It didn’t help with the fact that Midnight was overweight at the time. I had trouble with maintaining a diet for her and it was very difficult to find some healthy pet food she would like to eat. I couldn’t help but think that her weight issue and the “fatty tumor” was all my fault.

“How old is Midnight?”, the veterinarian questioned my mom.

“She is eleven years old. My daughter got her in around 2014.”, my mom replied.

“Since she is eleven, these lumps are normal due to aging. But you should keep an eye on them just in case because…”

At that point, I was zoning out every word the veterinarian had said. I was disassociating. My mind ruthlessly attacked me, cruelly blaming me for my cat’s illness. You are hurting her., my mind taunted me. You are slowly killing her. You are a terrible owner. It is all your fault.

“Alex, are you listening to her?”

My eyes darted to my mom as I snapped back into reality.

“Yes.”, I muttered somberly.

Weeks after the appointment, her condition had gotten incredibly worse to the point where she couldn’t climb up my bed like she used to. She had severe breathing problems, loudly wheezing when she breathed. She also had trouble with getting in and out of the litter box. I dreaded in calling the animal hospital again, fearing for the worse. Fearing that this lump is serious, fearing that this will be Midnight’s last day on earth. Eventually, I called the animal hospital, asking to see if they could check on Midnight again.

“What is going on with her?”, the receptionist asked politely.

“She has trouble getting up on my bed, It seems difficult to her compared to the other times she climbed up. She is also dealing with some breathing problems. She’s been wheezing a lot lately—”

“Okay.”, she interrupted, inciting urgency within me. “This seems like a serious issue. We can’t have the wheezing checked out at our hospital, but you need to contact an animal clinic for that. There’s a clinic called the VCA Animal Hospital.”

I felt like shaking at that moment. “O-okay. Where is it?”

“There is one in South Weymouth on Columbian Street. You can call them and set up an appointment.”

“Okay. I-I will.”

But I was too scared, too terrified. I know nothing good will come out of this. This is something that Midnight will magically get better from. And that this whole thing is my fault. I felt like running away from all of this. By next morning, I gathered up my courage to call the VCA and set up an appointment. I didn’t feel prepared for the inevitability to come and take Midnight away. My mom tried to reassure me that everything will be okay, but it didn’t help much. I knew that this was going to Midnight’s last day.

* * *

Our names have been called by the veterinarian’s assistant. We are brought into a room colored in earthy green and gray. The room was decorated with potted plants and funerary memorabilia. I sat on a gray sofa while my mom sat on a gray chair across from me. We had to wait for a long time for the veterinarians to prepare for the euthanasia process. To break the long silence, I said, “I’m going to be here with Midnight. I’m not letting her be alone during this. I want to let her know that I love her.”

“Midnight knows you love her.”, my mom said.

“Yeah but I don’t want to be a terrible owner leaving their pet to be euthanized all alone with some strangers.”, I said plainly, despite my despair.

I really wanted to have Midnight close to me. I don’t want to be scared and alone when this is happening to her. Eventually they brought out Midnight. When I saw her, wrapped in a light gray towel and a tube connecting to her left front leg, I broke immediately. The assistant gave Midnight to me and I held her dearly, like a newborn baby. But unlike a newborn baby, Midnight doesn’t have much to live. Tears stream down my face once again.

“Midnight is under morphine right down when we scanned the lump on her stomach so she might be a little dizzy.”, the veterinarian told us before leaving to get the euthanasia ready in the other room. After a while, in pure silence, I heard Midnight purring. My mom gasped at that in shock and sadness.

“She’s purring!”, she whispered.

I only held Midnight close to me, tears falling down on her face. She was purring because she was happy to see me. She was happy to be in my arms again after a long while in the other room. She missed me.

“She’s letting you know that she will be okay.”

The veterinarian came back with the syringe. It was time to say goodbye. I held Midnight close to me, whispering “I love you” and “You were such a good cat” over and over again. Before the veterinarian put the syringe through the tube connecting to Midnight, he warned me about that she might pee on the towel and some twitches upon death. I didn’t care, I just to see Midnight one last time. Just as the veterinarian put the syringe through the tube and pushed the plunge, I heard Midnight wheeze one last time. My face felt all wet from the constant tears. My eyes were screwed shut. All I can sense was the veterinarian’s hand on my shoulder. I heard him say, “It’s not your fault. You were a good owner.”

* * *

On May 27, 2025, Midnight passed away. I was physically, mentally, and emotionally drained from what happened at the clinic. I just wanted to go home and go to sleep. We drove back to Brockton, bringing what was once Midnight’s carrier with us. Once we got home, I immediately went to my room. Not only did I feel tired, but I felt depressed. My heart felt hollow without Midnight right next to me, to make me feel like I’m at home, that there is something to care about, and that there is something to live for. But now, I have no purpose, no routine, and no friend of my own. Then, I heard a knock on my door.

“Come in.”, I said, devoid of emotion.

My aunt Lindsay came in to check in on me. “Are you okay?”, she asked.

“No, but at least Midnight isn’t in pain anymore.”

“I’m sorry. I know that you must be tired from what happened.”

“Yeah. I want to sleep.”

“Okay. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

I thought about what my mom and the veterinarian had said to me before Midnight passed, and maybe they are right. Midnight was letting me know that everything will be okay, that I was not only a good owner but also a good friend to her. She loved me so much. She will be in a better place now. She is not in pain anymore. And when my time comes, I will be able to see her again. We will be together forever and it will be okay.

* * *

Late at night, when I was getting ready for bed, Midnight hopped on with a small trill sound and then a huff out of her nose. She treaded on the right side of the bed, making a beeline to curl up right next to me. I always slept on my right side, so I scoot over a bit to give her some space to curl up. When she reached her favorite spot, she kneaded the mattress for a bit before curling her small body against mine. From here, being close to me, I could hear her quiet yet content purrs. At minutes went by, the purrs started to lull me into a deep sleep. Once I closed my eyes, I could only hope that I share my sweet dreams with my wonderful Midnight.

BIO

Alexandria Gomes lives in Brockton, Massachusetts, with her family and her black short-hair cat, Salem. She is currently an undergraduate senior at Bridgewater State University. Between attending creative writing workshops at her college and reading various books (both for education and leisure), she wants to explore different genres and experiment with her writing.