My cat was my best friend, he was everything to me, I would come home and he would either be on my bed or waiting in the living room with me. He was my own world and I just never thought I would have to say goodbye to him. On Sunday November 12th, the worst day of my life suddenly punched me in the face. As the day grew longer, Mickey started to get sicker and sicker, he just laid on my bed doing nothing, which was so weird for him. Halfway thought the day, Mickey started to twitch, but since he was sleeping, I had just thought it was because he was dreaming. Unfortunately, that wasn't the case, around 10pm he got up from my bed and I watched him walk out the door.
He walked like his back legs were paralyzed. I completely freaked out and I screamed for my grandfather.
" Grandpa. Mickey isn't walking right."
"He hasn't been walking right for months," He was 15 after all.
"But this is different." It wasn't until I made Mickey walked that he saw what I was talking about, but it wasn't until my mom made the decision to take him to the Emergency Vet that the weight of the whole situation dropped like an atomic bomb. As we found out, later that night, Mickey had stage 4 kidney failure and he wasn't going to last a week. If you don't already know, cats have a wild instinct to hide the fact that they are sick, and he hid it so well that we didn't know until it was to late.
We took him home and later that day, on Monday, I said goodbye to my best friend.Although my grandfather didn't want me to, I had to bring him home and bury him, I just couldn't handle the thought of throwing him away like a piece of trash. I don't blame my grandfather for not liking that I did that, he has his own reason and I understand them. I just had to bring him home, where he belongs.
I was, and still am, completely devastated. I cried for hours that day and the days after. I can't focus on school and my depression is almost completely taking over my life. I even broke down in school because that piece of my heart was just ripped out of my heart and I couldn't deal. I go through life, not know what to do next, going home is a nightmare and playing with "my" dogs was like jumping off a cliff. I love the dogs and I always will, but at that time was something I couldn't stand to do.
It has been two weeks, when I wrote this, since Mickey passed away and I still expect to find him at home. However, he's not on my bed, hes noting in the living and hes certainly not causing trouble by chasing our other cat. He's up in heaven with my grandma waiting for me to come home.
Don't get me wrong, I am still incredibly upset and broken inside. I am angry that he left me just when I needed him the most, but I know it was better to let him go then let him suffer.
I loved Mickey to the deepest depths of my soul, he was and forever will be a piece of that soul.
