We put Spot down today. He was 12 years old. For the past three months he has struggled with Stage 3 kidney failure.
There is nothing I could write right now that could possibly be fitting or right to share about his life. We have known that this day was coming, and I have spent a not-insignificant part of this weekend ugly-crying.
We (Mom, Dad, Billy and I) spent the morning with him up on The Big Bed. There was not a moment where one of us was not petting him. A long time ago, we agreed that if he didn’t die in his sleep, we were not going to force him to go to the vet’s office. He has never loved the vet, and the last thing that any of us wanted was for him to be sick, afraid and in a strange place. Through the services of MN Pets, he died sitting in Dad’s lap, on his favorite blankets, with all of our hands on him.
At the beginning of June, I looked at someone and said, If this month ended tomorrow, it would be too late. I was not kidding. I lost my little cat brother today.