User blog comment:Abbykurle/TRAGIC NEWS/@comment-32657625-20190418013701

Oh man, that's awful... It's not fun to go through events like this.

I had a cat once, her name was Muffy (or Muffin), and she was about seven years older than me. When she was a kitten, my parents adopted her and her sister together. They lived happily (and funnily) together until they were both six, when Muffy's sister, Mandy, died due to cancer. I barely knew Mandy at all, I only have vague memories of her, each one slowly drifting away as feathers in the breeze. Muffy was my ultimate buddy when I was little, I always made sure to stay by her side and doted on her; soon enough she developed a passionate love towards me. She got cancer when I was four years old. My parents described it to me as "really, really sick", and I remember screaming and crying and shutting myself in my room, drawing Muffy get-well cards. Then, miraculously, she came home from the vet completely fine: she had survived the cancer.

Not long after that, my mom was petting her one day when she noticed that Muffy's right eye had a white film clouding over it. She then had to get eyedrops to keep it from worsening, but it never went away... Muffy was partially blind until her dying day.

Two things happened around the same time... when I was eight. The first thing was Muffy developing kidney problems and having to go on a diet. We bought her a special perscribed cat food, and she would vomit after eating grass. She ate grass quite frequently.

The second thing was huge for everyone. I was a third-grader, going out into the street to retrieve a stuffed platypus that my neighbor, a rude, cruel kid, when a car started to come. I was oblivious, but then Muffy started hissing and yowling frantically, staring straight at me. I ditched the platypus and ran to her, wondering what was wrong. The next thing I knew, the woosh of a car sounded behind me. I turned around to see a flattened stuffed platypus lying on the hot, steamy asphalt.

Nothing seemed to be wrong with Muffy, either. She rubbed me affectionately, protectively, and to this day no other reason for her screeching has appeared.

The last things, later in her life, were cancer in her ear that I spotted one afternoon (she ended up getting it lasered off to stop it from spreading) and severe hip pains; she limped everywhere she went. Then, two years ago, she started developing problems with her urine. She couldn't control where she did her business, and she started experiencing pain sooner rather than later. Muffy spent her last month locked in our bathroom, meowing forlornly every time someone came in to use it.

The final decision came in March of 2018. My mom, tearful, wrapped Muffy in her arms, climbed into the car, and left me to watch over my younger sisters and brothers. I started screaming and crying, tears dripping off of my chin. The younger ones were confused, "Where did Mommy go?", they would ask me. The older one cried along with me, though she had never known Muffy as I did.

We got a new cat earlier this year, Cocoa, but she got ran over by a car a few weeks ago. If only Muffy had been there, just as she'd been for me.

Losing pets is hard, it's painful, but there will always be people there for you, friends there for you, random online users who can relate to your story there for you. :')

I dearly hope that cats go to heaven.

Sorry that my comment was so long and heartfelt.