Thomas and Gemma took us to the humane society when we were kitty hunting a year and a half ago. They had a cat. They didn't need a cat -- but Thomas saw Figaro and knew he needed Figaro. Figaro was a gorgeous black beastie of a kitten, destined for a life of greatness
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The cat we had when I was growing up - who had adopted me as his primary monkey; he slept on my bed every night - died of kidney failure three days before I went off to college for the first time.
It was better for him that way. He'd already gone through me being gone for a year as an exchange student, and hated that. This way he didn't have to go through me leaving again. And my mother moving out of the house he'd spent 13 of his 16 years in.
It was right. But it still wasn't fair.
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Unfortunately, it never gets easier, this whole pet-death thing. When I had Dog put down a couple of months ago, I had to leave: too many other cats had died when I was there, and I couldn't take one more pet leaving permanently.
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Our fifth greyhound got a bad diagnosis a few days ago, and we're discussing what treatment to do and how long to wait. So far he seems to be enjoying life more than he's suffering, so it's not time yet....
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