Although I was holding back my tears all day, reality did not hit me until I came home and Sake did not come greet me at my car and walk with me into the house as he usually does. I remember when we first went to adopt him; he was a sweet yet rambunctious little kitten. He always wanted to be free: became extremely aggressive as a young male cat and persistently vocal as an older indoor cat. We let him out, he would roam the streets, lead his pack of minion kittens by day and at the end of each day he would come home. We lost him for three weeks, yet amazingly, he came back to us - that’s kind of a big deal for a cat. It’s sad-making to think he won’t be coming back anymore.
He was strong, proud, regal, and bad ass. I can’t bear thinking of him laying there (in complete contrast) hurt, alone, and then finally just passing away. It breaks my heart to think of him suffering the moments before he died and having no inkling of how much and how long he was suffering for. I think, amongst other difficult things, it’s the hardest to swallow.
It’s awful.
