My cat was put to sleep today.
He was, without a doubt, the best cat ever and don't bother to tell me otherwise.
He was the replacement for our family dog Maccer who was, without a doubt, the best dog ever and don't bother to tell me otherwise.
I was ok with it until I started thinking about how I didn't like Charlie when we first got him because he was skittery and wouldn't let me pet him. My mom was at the post office one day and there was a cat causing an uproar and she offered to take him home rather them let them take him to the pound.
He lived a good life. He was fat and arrogant. When my brother got his cancer-ridden thyroid taken out at age 19, Charlie wasn't allowed inside his room but he sat by the door and nosed his way in whenever he got a chance. I think good pets have a sense for these things -- when their owners need some comforting. My dad used to put him on my bed to wake me up in the mornings in middle school. This started right around the time my parents decided to get a divorce so it was a nice thing to wake up to: a cat kneading your hair.
I like to think that in the cat mafia in my neighborhood, Charlie was the don.
I hope they free feed him wherever he's ended up. He could never adhere to a feeding schedule.