Been a few weeks. I have suffered a tremendous loss. We had to let our sweet baby Quasar kitty go. He had advanced heart disease which led to kidney failure. This caught us completely by surprise, because he had no symptoms, until one day he looked a little bit skinny. He had not been eating. We took him to the vet, and he weighed less than 7 pounds, after weighing around 10-11 pounds the majority of his life. The vet gave him some subcutaneous fluids and some pills to make him hungry, and drew blood for testing. The next day, the news was dire, and we were left with no choice but to have him put to sleep. I know beyond any doubt, that this was the absolute best, right, and only thing to do, but nonetheless, this devastated us to the core. We feel lost and empty without him.

We do not have children, so Quasar was our child. We loved him, and he loved us. We talked to him as if he was a normal family member, and he talked back. When we left the house, he would walk us to the door, and he would be right there when we got back, ready to greet us, and show us that he was grateful that we were back. He was a part of everything we did. He was our best friend. He was also more than that. He symbolized a constant in our lives. A symbol of continuity. He was a fixture that represented happiness and solidarity. I don't know if any of that makes sense, but it is hard to put into words. We saw him every single day, talked to him every single day, played with him every single day, and enjoyed his company every single day. So we will never completely overcome the lack of his presence.

He was a silly cat, so he matched our personalities perfectly. He also looked like a jigsaw puzzle of some sort, due to his unusual markings. When we adopted him in 2002, he had just been neutered, and was still reeling in the affects of the anesthesia. He was laying in his litter box. He tried to get up to engage us but was too 'drunk', and stumbled around until laying right back down in his litter. We knew right then and there, that he was for us. From then on, he always enjoyed cramming himself into cardboard boxes and plastic bags, so we made sure to always have one around for him to play with. He preferred the ones that were a little too small, so that he could barely fit inside them, much like his litter box the first day we saw him.

In the end, he remained proud and happy. I do not think he suffered very much at all. He was in good spirits and had his wits about him in his last few days. He stayed in his house a lot more than usual, but when he heard us stirring around doing this or that, he would still come out to check on us, and make sure we were ok, and that he didn't miss anything. I took the day off from work to take him to the vet, so I was able to spend the entire day with him, as well as the next day before the vet called with the bad news. He was fatigued and somewhat lethargic, but you could tell that mentally he was strong. He was still rubbing his face all over us and purring. My gal asked if she could hold him in her arms on the way to the vet for the last time. That is the image I keep thinking of over and over again. He looked tired, but still happy. He was glad to be with his momma and daddy.

A picture is worth more than words of course, so I will provide a montage for anyone who was not lucky enough to meet him, and to serve as a memorial for those who were. You can click on the images for larger versions.