My cat is dead today. Today, and for two other days prior, I finally began forcefeeding him, in order to ensure he would not starve to death, as he was refusing to eat. He was not ill with any new illness, nor facing injuries. He was not very old either, middle-aged, just over 10 years old... getting close to the point in a few years he would be old/elderly. But he has had a liver disease preventing the proper function of his liver for a whole year now.
It seems it was his time, but I cannot accept it as such. I feel like I could have done more. I feel like he is dead because I didn't care for him well enough. We buried him just moments ago, along with a funerary covering and offerring of food. I spoke, said goodbye, and yet am still crying.
With his death comes a further loss of my will to life. My life is pretty poor. Now only one other cat in this house needs me, a kitten that will be an young adult in alittle over a year (he will be 3).
My family is affected in various ways from our cat's death. My stepdad is unaffected with sorrow, he doesn't like cats much... oddly, he doesn't understand why we are so sad over this. My mom cried, for me and 'Tinker. My brother Erik cried for a very short time for our cat. My other siblings Sean and Elizabeth are at work, and do not know what happened with 'Tinker, his death this afternoon, his burial this evening. I don't know how they will react honestly. Sean was close with 'Tinker like me... Elizabeth not so much, but still cared about him.
This is the end of this story... this telling is over... 'Tinker will be remember for always being kind and caring as a cat... horribly abused for his fur color and loud meowing... loved by the few... and loving the many.