Yesterday, our cat Samber died. He'd been sick for a few months now--cancer with tumors that pressed against his intestines and his lungs, making him drop weight like a stone and short on breath. If he kept calm, he was pretty happy. He ate a lot, liked to be patted lightly, and enjoyed spending time outdoors, in the sun.
This morning, I opened the door, not to a happy miauw as a request for food, but to a drooling, panting, anxious little furball who was absolutely miserable. We'd been waiting for the moment he was no longer content with his life, and this was it. We called the vet right away for an appoinment to have him put to sleep.
But like the independant, stubborn pirate he had been in life, Samber died while waiting for the vet appointment. We were in the waiting room, alone with our beloved pet, and we watched him take his last few breaths until both that and his heart stopped. All the vet had to do was confirm what we already knew. We buried him in the yard, where he was happiest.
We loved that cat. I'm not going to call him our fur baby--I'll escape that lesbian stereotype, thank you very much--but we did love that cat. We'd known him for a little over eight years and have taken care of him for five. He was part of the family and especially these last few months, caring for him had become an intensive part of the day. I am going to miss our routine. I'm going to miss him following em to the kitchen every single time in the hope for for. I am going to miss giving him my breakfast yoghurt bowl to lick clean. I am going to miss saying goodbye to him every night.
Rest well, my friend. I am so proud to have known you and even prouder to have been there when you passed like the true warrior you were. You made a huge impact in the lives of many, and you will be remembered in stories for many years to come. As it should be. I love you, and you will be missed terribly.