i'm not the type to cry -- so much and so hard and so long. it might seem like i appear sadder now when my cat was dying than when people, human beings around me died in the past. and i won't deny that that's true. that's because guybrush didn't understand pain, he didn't understand suffering, didn't understand the paralysis that suddenly came upon him. you just can't explain something like that to a cat, and we were just left helpless to help him when we were the only ones he could look to at such a time of need for him. and animals, pets, they're not evil the way humans are or can be, they don't and won't and can't ever hurt you the way humans can or will or do, they're utterly innocent creatures that surely deserve none of the pain and suffering that come with life. that's why i cry for animals over human beings.
it hurt a lot to watch him suffering the last couple of days. to just rush to him whenver he makes a meow, to just be beside him trying to figure out just what he wanted, trying to feed him the water he was drinking in excess, drying his paws, wiping his mouth, just stroking and scratching him and repeatedly telling him we love him and that it was alright to go and that there was no need to wait for anyone; but he still held on, held on, even as his breath grew weaker and weaker until the vet came and helped him end it all. my poor, poor cat.
it hurt a lot, not knowing if he knew he was going, if he understood what we were doing, how we were trying to help relieve him of his suffering, when the vet and her assistant, two unfamiliar people, came and anyhow meddle with his hind leg and shaved it and stuck some needle into it. it hurt when the vet said he had gone, one eye still half open, and then he gave several sneeze-like spasms over the next minute, which she said were heart muscle reflexes although he was already dead, which i believe. stranger would have called them "the throes of death".
it hurt when they prepared to take his lifeless body away. when she lifted him up and into the big black bag. his furry furry still-warm body, like he was still alive, but his head just drooping to the side as she lifted him up and put him in and tied up the bag and took him away. my cat is dead. my cat is dead.