Most of you didn’t know that I’d taken in a little cat two weeks ago this past Saturday. Most of you didn’t know that we had a struggle with her food, trying to get rid of her tummy troubles. Most of you had no idea that I was attempting to save up to get her to the vet, get her vaccinated, get her spayed…

I came home at around 5 this morning to that little cat struggling to find her voice. She couldn’t meow, but for two weeks before then, she’d brought me all of the mews the moment I got home.

A few minutes later, I picked her up. She was panting and lethargic, a little bit limp. Not at all her aggressively affectionate self. She wanted to be put down, so I set her down. She shuffled toward her litter box, which she’d been fantastic about…but she couldn’t quite make it and had an accident on the floor.

I called an emergency vet. Took her there.

…found out that she had fluid on her lungs. Whether it was the result of infection or feline leukemia, I couldn’t afford to find out. Nor was I willing to let her suffer when she was declining so rapidly that she could hardly hold her head up. I lied to her on the way to those people. I told her they’d make her better. I told her she’d be okay…

I failed my little Min…

Now I have to scrape together $400 to pick up her ashes later on this week…and I just don’t have the energy…and I don’t know what to do…