Pretty sure nobody reads these, but whatever.

Last week I had to put my 16 year old cat down.
Not because he was sick or dying, but because my stepfather didn't want him around anymore.

Backstory: Tiger is old, old cats meow for no good reason. Tiger meowed at night, woke stepfather up. Instead of doing the normal thing by going back to sleep, he sits and stews over how much he hates the cat and how he has to wake up in a couple of hours to go to work.
He didn't get enough sleep, he fell asleep behind the wheel of his big rig and drove it into a snow bank. Nobody injured, truck dented. But he could have died or wrecked the truck, blah blah blah.
skip ahead a couple of weeks, cat wakes him up again. he demands the cat must go.

Here's me left with the guilt that I must get rid of my cat, who I've had since he was eight weeks old, because of a 'what if'.
What if stepdad crashes the truck?
What if he dies?
what if he gets fired?

So basically, I was in full-blown anxiety attack mode. At first I tried to find him a new home. But some sage words from my father made me realize that Tiger was just too old to adapt to such a huge change. So my only option became to euthanize him.

The vet examined Tiger and found he had a mass in his belly. Possibly a tumor. Tiger was going blind and developing dementia. I suspect he had some form of ocular cancer as well. So, while the circumstances sucked, its for the best that we spared him the inevitable sharp decline in health.

The last thing Tiger likely remembered was me. My hand cradling his head. My scent.

He was my baby, my best friend. He was a gentle soul, more likely to run and hide than ever hurt someone. He was a food thief and a warmth hog. He kept my feet warm in the winter and was a soothing purring pillow when I was upset. He loved head-bonking things and getting forehead kisses.

There's a cat-shaped void in my heart.
Goodnight sweet prince. 1998-2014