I'm sure everybody remembers their first pet. This is not that story, she had an unfortunate accident while she was still a kitten.
Mum and I stopped at a friends house on the way home to pick up a kitten who were going to give as a birthday present to a friend of hers. I fell in love with this small black cat who had identical (save a small amount of difference in the intensity) white markings on their chin and on their tummys. We took him home, and it wasn't long after that all concerned realise he wasn't going anywhere.
In a way that no other cat that I had was my cat, Hone was my cat. I hardly fed him (Mum did that), so I cant attribute all his goodwill to food. He was there when I was sick, there when I was home waiting for Summer, waiting for University.
About a week ago I had a call from my Mum to say that he was off his food a bit, and that they were going to the vets to stay at the cattery there while Mum was away. She had the vets check him out, who discovered rather bad liver disease. I was told then that it didn't look good. Half an hour ago my Aunty Barb called to tell me that the he hasn't really improved. She took him home last night to see if they couldn't interest in him and food, and he isn't. So I've said yes to having him put down. (If you think that is hard and uncaring, just know I haven't stopped crying since that phone call.)
I don't know how I got so attached to this marvellous cat, but I miss him already.
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