User blog comment:Abbykurle/DEVASTATING NEWS/@comment-32392816-20171220025441/@comment-32392816-20171220030421

I've had 6 cats and most have died. First off, we had Casper, 16, and Spooky AKA Spoopy, 17. They were best friends. When Casper stopped eating and my mother attempted to feed him kitten formula, Casper wouldn't touch it. Spooky actually took a sip to show his friend that the liquid was safe. Casper still didn't eat it, and he died on that day due to age. Spooky lived a year longer.

Then we had Tiny Silver Bell, the little grey kitten with extra claws and extra toes. After a while, she went missing. She was about a year old, a beautiful grey kitty-cat. My grandmother told me that she moved into a barn down the street and we couldn't visit her due to the neighbors not wanting to be disturbed, but eventually my sister told me she'd seen the cat run into the path of an oncoming car.

Next up we had Smokey Mocha and Oreo, who was a rescue cat we'd taken in when Smokey was around 15. The two weren't huge fans of each other, and avoided the other. Oreo'd decided he needed to climb into the rafters of the basement and dig THROUGH THE DRYWALL all the way to the CRAWLSPACE. We took him back to PetSmart a week later. Smokey Mocha died a month later.

Now we have Latte, a three-year-old cat. She can be sweet, but she won't hesitate to attack you full-force with her non-existant deathly claws. We could've used a nicer one. Mr. Buttons seems like he was a MUCH nicer cat than my current one.