So, my cat just died. The same cat that I mentioned in a blog a couple of weeks ago, who was just diagnosed with feline leukemia. He fought pretty hard, but eventually he just stopped eating at all. We were basically having to hold his mouth open and shove food in there, which sounds terrible, but we had to do something for him. He was just going to wither away.
With my last cat, Tipper (who also had feline leukemia, FYI), he was diagnosed and we had to put him to sleep the same day. It was just too painful to watch. He was way worse off than Oliver was, though, and the vet told us that if we kept him inside and watched him carefully, we could nurse him back to health for the time being.
That was obviously not the case, though. Until today, he was doing okay. I mean, he still wasn't eating, but he was getting up and walking around, and he would still climb up in your lap and snuggle you and everything... I'd already decided that if he wasn't better by this week, I would take him and have him put down anyway, just because I didn't want him to suffer anymore. This has been a battle for the poor baby.
I don't live with my parents anymore, so I got the phone call a few minutes ago. My dad was holding him, and he just couldn't make it any longer. He just... Went. My dad buried him in the back yard with our other cat, Sam, and called me.
This cat wasn't just a cat to me. I loved him so much.
It sucks being a cat person, because you really do get so attached to them so easily, and it's so much worse when they die. I've had dogs die, and obviously been sad about it, but not even shed a tear. But I loved this cat so much.
I just can't believe he's gone. When I go back to my parents house for the weekend, I don't even know what I'll do with myself. I'm not sure if I can handle it right now.
Sucks to be me.
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