One is never prepared for death

August 14th 2007 is going on the books as one of the saddest days of my life.

I was off work on Monday the 13th and had noticed that Sheba, our 17.5 year-old cat, was losing huge amounts of hair off her back. She was also steadily losing weight and getting more lethargic by the day. She did appear to be eating, but not as much as usual.
It was obvious that something wasn't right, so I called my wife and she made an appointment with the vet.
To make a long story short, The vet ran some lab tests and observed her overnight. The labs came back and indicated severe liver damage.
I asked the vet if he could be more specific about the cause of the damage, but said he really couldn't tell at this point. He did say that she was responding to the IV fluids that they were giving her.

That all changed after she vomited up all the food they gave her in the afternoon.

After multiple phone calls and consulting the vet, we had decided the ethical thing to do would be to put her down.

There have been many days I thought about the inevitable with her, but felt that I would be ready when the day arrived.
No chance.
When I received a phone call from my sobbing wife asking if I wanted her ashes, I broke down crying like I had never done before. It was at that point reality smaked me in the face. This creature we have brought into our home and have shared 17+ years of good times with, will be gone forever.

Today she is gone. And it hurts like hell.

They say time heals all things, but sometimes I have to wonder.

Yes, at times she was a little pain in the ass, but we loved her none the less.

Some people say that it's rediculous to mourn over an animal. But what I think they fail to realize is that we mourn over the relationship that has been lost, along with the spot in our heart.