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Last week we lost a small friend. After my mother-in-law passed away last year we adopted one of her three cats (Ian's two brothers each adopted one of the others) and we'd had Mickey ever since that time. He was smaller than most cats his age (he was fifteen-years-old) and had been born blind. His mother rejected him because he was the runt of the litter and Ian and my father-in-law had nursed that little kitten, fed him with an eye dropper and coddled him until he was able to get his pins under himself and learn how to get around. So Ian always felt really close to Mickey and of coarse, wanted to keep him with us after Mum passed away. It was like having a little bit of her with us all the time, too. But last week we finally had to admit that Mickey wasn't well - and wasn't getting any healthier as time has gone by - and our vet recommended that we put him down. He'd developed diabetes (I never knew animals could be diabetic) and at his age and in his fragil condition, he couldn't have withstood treatment for it. So we had to say goodbye and it hasn't been easy for any of us, since. Many people just say, when you grieve for an animal, "oh, it's just a pet" or "it's just a cat". But Mickey was so very much more than that and we miss him so. My cat, Toby Bear, still hasn't adjusted to the fact that his play-buddie isn't here any longer. Nor has Ian. I've been keeping an eye out for a black kitten to come live with us and help to fill the void that losing Mickey has left in our lives.
Fallon
Fallon