Mac is 7.
He came to our life in the fall of 2016, a few months after turning 2.
We’ve had a perfect life full of completely forgettable dramas. Some involving him, some happening around him while he slept it off, ate his heart away, or hung out with his friend, Nasi, from downstairs. It was so good and we were doing so well that we decided to take another step.
We bought a house on June 10th last year. We wanted a bigger house for completely different reasons: I wanted another cat, Olivier wanted a garden. We settled for a beautiful house in a not fully gentrified neighborhood with a huge closed garden where Mac could live his best life.
A year later, exactly on that date, we had to take Mac to the vet. He wasn’t hungry, which was weird but also great because he had to lose weight. After a few days of this, we just knew there was something wrong. The vet’s initial assessment was rough but offered a bit of hope. As the days have progressed, that hope has diminished greatly. Only a miracle can change things now.
Mac has stage 4 acute renal failure. All the little symptoms I noticed in the recent days were the silent screams for help that his body sent, and that I was too blind to notice. We don’t know how it happened, but we think the flowers we planted a month ago – which now we know they are highly toxic for cats – caused it. We unknowingly gave Mac a death sentence.
We’re getting him back tomorrow; Dr. Google says we have about a month left with him. I’m determined to let him live his best life until the moment when we have to say goodbye happens.
He wasn’t a special cat, but he was special to me. He kept me company when I felt alone. He gave me support when I was feeling sick or ready to give up. He made me feel like I was needed. He trusted me and I will not let that trust go to waste.
I will send him off the best way I can till the time when we can meet again.
You were almost 5 years with me, but you will be in my heart forever.
I love you, Mac.