I think it will take some time for this incredible feeling of loss to go away.  I hate that you got cancer and declined so rapidly and even more I hate that we had to decide to end your life, although I feel you probably appreciate us helping you end your misery.  You were a wonderful cat.  Even though we didn’t have you from a kitten, and really only had you for less than ¼ of your life, we loved you like we had had you forever.  I wish we had more time together.  Having to say goodbye forever after only 3 years is very hard.I only wish there had been some magic cure for you that would have returned you to the sprightly energetic happy cat you once were, but the only answer was medication that might have helped for a very short period, and I honestly doubt it would have helped much. Rather than letting you linger for at most a few more months, we felt you’d be happier being let go, off to a place much happier and more comfortable, and not slowly being killed by cancer.



I just about lost it last night when I walked into the house and realized you weren’t there, and that you’d never be there again.  Then I walked into the kitchen and saw your food dish, and I did lose it.  We get so used to the house being occupied while we’re away, and that you were always there, you were like the one little constant thing…..we could always count on being greeted when we got home. I know you weren’t able to greet us in your last days, but you were at least still there, and as sick as you were, you would get up and come over for a rub. It’s hard being at home and knowing you won’t be around anymore, that your food dish won’t be touched, your toys will go un-played with, we won’t find everything covered in cathair, and you won’t be there to run up and greet us when we come home from a hard day, this is probably the hardest part for me to deal with.



I don’t want my thoughts of you to be ones of the sickly cat laying in the window, getting up only to walk a few feet for a drink…..I don’t want that image.  Nor do I want the image of you at your final vet visit, how you were before the sedative, while it was being given to you, and after it took effect.  You were there but you weren’t…..it hurt to look at you that way.  And finally, I don’t wish to remember watching you take the final breath. But in writing this, I’m hoping I can to some degree purge these images from my mind, hopefully never to visit them again. I want to remember my super-strong, bad-ass Murrey, who growled at us when we brought him home, who fought with rogue cats through the glass at the back door, and who loved being with us.



We will always remember that the backyard belonged to you, and only you, and how you loved to stand at the door, facing the garden and not inside the house, surveying all that was yours.  When I remember you, I will remember you laying about on the deck, or in the grass sunning yourself, or under your favorite tree in the corner.  I’ll remember it being impossible to get you in at night unless we got you to chase the flashlight, or get you running in at the sound of your favorite bag of treats being shaken.  I’ll remember how much you liked cuddling with us on the couch or in bed, poking your head in the refrigerator at the most inconvenient times, and the tiny buffalo herd noise you’d make while playing with your toys.  I’ll remember how much you’d rather lay around under things (the bed, the table, the piano) rather than on top of them.  I’ll remember you choosing our freshly folded laundry as a great place to sleep, how you always felt the need to jump into an empty tub in the bathroom and groom yourself, and how much you loved to play by attacking our feet.



You were a funny, lovely animal, and you will be missed.