When my cat got sick, my life was pretty much in a stand still.
For two weeks, I gave all my attention to him.
First, he stopped eating. Then, he stopped meowing. Next, he stopped getting up and just lay energyless. It all happened too fast.
“I can’t stand seeing him like that,” Dad said. “Going to the vet doesn’t seem to do anything.”
I remained silent.
“Maybe we should give him away. What do you think?” He added. Mom supported the idea and looked at me, for approval.
Hearing those words just melts my patience. I lashed out immediately. To think they even considered it as a good idea was bullshit. I cried for the first time since he fell sick, in front of my parents.
I didn’t want to give up on him.
I still had a faint hope that he’ll get better. I fed him with a syringe 5 times a day. I even had a timetable, so I won’t forget!
I spent the days laying beside him and pet him to make him feel better, and he did purr. But seeing how uncomfortable he is, I knew it wasn’t a happy purr.
There was one intimate moment that still makes me smile every time I think of it. It was a day before his death. I placed him on my bed like I always do when it’s bedtime. He stayed in my arms for a while. After a few minutes, he sat up and looked at me and leaned onto my body. It was almost like a hug. I’d like to think of it that way.
The next day, he was in a really bad shape. I kind of knew his time was coming very soon. I tried to feed him but threw it up. He couldn’t even drink water.
I spent the whole day just sitting beside him and crying and talking to him.
“I love you,” I said, repeatedly. “If you’re in too much pain, please just let go”
For some reason, it helped me feel better.
A few minutes later, he took his last breath. Just like in those soap operas. Just like that.
On the floor, near the edge of my bed, I burst into more tears. The silence crept in, only breaking with my sobs. I’ve never felt so alone. The day I dread came. I lost my best friend, my little brother.