We had gone to the park to play with my children. I was heavy hearted this day, because I knew he was sick. He had not taken his medicine this morning and stopped using the litter box. He had eaten some yogurt, but could not hold his head up well enough to drink water or milk, and could not chew any more of his food. We had decided we would probably have him put to sleep the next day. We felt getting the kids outside was a good idea.

And it was. They played in the pool, and the sandbox, and my oldest and I played basketball. As my daughter kicked the ball and ran towards her little sister, I picked it up. On the ball was a bee, who stung me as I picked it up.

The bee sting was biting, but was really just a small pain by comparison. When we got home we found Valentine trying to hide behind his cat litter. He couldn't fit there, and he got himself stuck again. Who knew how long he had been there. This was the third time he had done this in two days. He was trying to hide from us, and from himself maybe. Here was a cat that loved being around people his entire life. Now he didn't even want to be seen.

I took him out of his hiding spot, to free him from being stuck. He wobbled and limped. We held him down to keep him from moving so poorly. I gave him more yogurt, he took two licks and then he stepped in it with a shaky paw. We held him down again. My wife left to put my daughter down for a nap. When she returned I suggested we put Valentine to sleep today. She agreed.

As we waited for my father-in-law to watch the kids while we went to the hospital, I laid next to him and closed my eyes, as I had done for over a thousand times in our lives together. He seemed, at that moment, the most calm and rested he had been for weeks. He didn't purr; this was strange, as through his entire life he purred the instant anyone gave him any attention. But, I was glad that he was this calm. I also felt terrible since I knew this was the last of his moments with us.

He was definitely not calm on the way to the hospital. He breathed heavy and his eyes were wide. This was the most alert I had seen him for weeks. I later thought that he knew what was happening. My wife thinks this is personifying him, and that he was just afraid of the vet's office, which he had always been very frightened of. She's probably right, but I can't get the image of him wide eyed and panting out of my head.
When they brought him back, wrapped in a blanket, with the catheter in, he was calm again. They told us he was in pain and we should do this quickly. We petted him and told him we loved him. They gave him the injection and I asked how long it takes. The vet simply said: "He's gone."

I don't remember what she said after that. I cried really hard. He appeared the same as before, just peaceful. We stroked him, crying, telling him we loved him. My wife told him we'd see him again. And then we left him there. As I walked out I briefly saw the faces of those around the room, and they looked shocked to see us teary eyed and without our cat. We walked to the car and I hugged my wife. I stared up at the sky in disbelief.

It's amazing how such a little life can change the way your entire house feels. I keep thinking I see him walking around the corner, or by his water bowl, or resting in front of the kitchen sink (he would stay there often since there were always so many people in our kitchen.) I'm sad when I'm away from home, but I feel even sadder when I'm at home. I miss him constantly.

I look down at the bee sting on my hand, a reminder of his last day. I've watched it heal, and I know my heart will heal too. Eventually though, I think I'll forget about the bee sting. But I know I'll never forget about my best friend.