If you hate cats, leave.
I remember the day we found Bity.
She was in a small, run-down house with this older couple who looked frustrated. They had cats everywhere. But Bity and her two brothers were there in the living room, running around and meowing, the most adorable things I had ever seen.
We had shown up there that day to buy one cat, because one of our cats had been run over and I wanted a kitten again. I was 10 years old.
These three little kittens were just the best things in the whole wide world. If you magically built a time machine, went back to that moment that we bought them, and told me that they were all destined to die because of a genetic disease, I still would have bought them.
Bity was my favorite. I loved all three of them, but Bity was mine because she was the runt, and she was deaf. She was special.
We started her out young and bought her a leash and collar, and started to walk her at the park and Petsmart and everywhere that cats were allowed. She loved dogs because she was deaf, and she loved people even more. She loved water, and laser pointers, and Q-Tips and rubber bands and shiny objects. She stalked every dog that my neighbor has ever had, and almost ate one of our neighbor's Chihuahuas. Bity was never afraid.
This morning, I saw a new expression on her face. She was scared. She knew
that the end was coming for her. And we took her to the vet.
The vet said, she's still not breathing well. It's Feline Leukemia, Heartworm, hereditary heart defects, it could be anything. But the point is, she's probably not going to get better. The most you can do for her is hook her up to machines and force-feed her for the rest of her life.
I couldn't do that. Bity has always been such a playful cat. She was always the one running around, chasing things, jumping on things, being a dork. To see her hooked up to machines, just a heart beating in her body rather than her running around outside, would have been worse than seeing her die.
We had her put to sleep today.
Somehow, I feel alright about this. Coming home and seeing my room empty...was a bit of a challenge. But I stand by my decision. She had this thousand-yard stare this morning that told me she was ready. So when the vet presented us with the choice...I knew I had to take it.
She was purring when they stuck the needle in her. She didn't flinch. She just looked into my eyes while I pet her and kissed her on the head, and told her (even though she was deaf) that I loved her so much, and I would miss her. I got to carry her like a baby, the way I used to carry her. I carried her that way to the room and she was gone.
Bity was my best friend. She was the perfect mixture between a cat and a human and a dog, and she'll be missed for the rest of my life. But if there's a heaven, she's there, and she's with her brother and her best friend, the neighbor's dog. And there's laser pointers and rubber bands and Q-tips and catnip and water fountains everywhere and she's going to be so happy.
See you later, 64D.