I am so, so sorry for what happened. I loved you more than I think you realized, you were my girl. You were independent but loving in your own way, and the only cat I’ve ever taken in as an adult. You were gorgeous, smart, and you went crazy for chicken and ham, from the previous stint of your life where you were a dumpster cat (my dumpster cat <3). I didn’t have you as a kitten, and you were already spayed when I found you, so somebody took care of you before I did. Is it selfish of me to be happy you found your way to me that one Halloween night in the back of the Perkin’s parking lot? I knew something was wrong when you were laying still in my room with drool down your chin. You got up and walked off a little slow. I didn’t know what happened but my gut told me it was bad. My fears weren’t unfounded when a week or so later I found you while you were having a seizure. I immediately told my father we had to take you to the vet, but he told me no because he didn’t want to pay for it. He had plenty of money, and while I was used to his abusive, drunkard ways and how he deprived me of the basic essentials of life (including food), it was devastating that he wouldn’t pay for you to get better. I was so angry at him, at a time in my life when I was already enraged with everything he did. You kept me safe though, you were always there to cuddle with me in my bed when the storm inside the house had turned into a hurricane and it was all I could do to hide under the blankets with my door locked and hope he wouldn’t get the cordless drill to take it apart. My brothers loved you too, especially because you loved ham and chicken so much they would throw pieces to you and you’d chase them like it was your last meal. I’m sorry whenever we had chicken for dinner I had to lock you in my room; you just wouldn’t stop climbing over hell and high water to get to our plates and steal our chicken (adorable but irritating, sweetie). I still feel guilty because I should have stolen you away from his house, I don’t know where we would have gone or what we would have done because I was only fifteen, but I should have done something. I was too scared to try anything, too scared for my well being while you were slowly suffering. It broke my heart to watch you get worse and worse, and even Mr. Sam your adopted kitty brother was concerned too–I’d find him looking for you in the dark places you’d hide to have your seizures. Not saving you was the single worst mistake of my life, I know I’m only twenty-two now but I still think about you a lot and how I was too afraid to save you. I will never, never make that mistake again in my life. I’m just so ashamed that it took your death in my arms to make me realize this. We only had four years together but you were amazing. Even now I’m crying just as hard as I was when I lost you because it was my fault; you were always there for me and I abandoned you. I hope that you found peace when you passed, because I couldn’t bring it to you, I was just too scared. When I die someday, I’m gonna take some chicken with me so I can find you in heaven–you always could smell it from a mile away.
Ashamed and heartbroken, Silvia “