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One of our two cats died last night, my mom just called to tell me the news.
We've had Thunder for twelve and a half years, I was the one who picked him out and named him. He was always the more outgoing of the two, and very tough-- one of the toughest pets in the neighborhood. We'd hear stories from neighbors about the fights he'd gotten in with their cats and dogs, and we had the scarred ear to prove it.
I guess a couple months ago my family noticed that he had gotten much more frail and stopped eating as much. The vet said he had some thyroid condition, and he started taking pills for it. My mom said he had been doing much better recently, and she had put off getting more medicine. I actually insisted on picking up some more a couple days ago, the day I left for school.
He died last night in our basement, and I was the only one who didn't get to be there. It sounds pretty painful actually, they say he looked like he was trying to stand but couldn't, and he was making strange sounds. They think he had a stroke.
My dad just got back from the vet, and I guess they are cremating him but we don't get him? I wasn't sure how I thought it would work. The last time this happened, I was eight and our cat was being put down.
He's been such a big part of my life, I just wish I could have been there. I did have a nice little goodbye the other day, but at that point I thought I would see him again.