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Friday, August 08:

My furry little friend,
my littlest angel,
how far have you flown today?
Spreading your newly found wings on high,
and take to the sky! Soar through the wispy tendril of clouds!
Become one with the birds you once stalked.

Betwixt the pain and suffering once felt,
that glazed your eyes and wracked with frail form-
you now reside beyond my groping reach,
now free beyond worldly trials and tribulations.

These woods were once yours,
a hunting ground for the primed king of this land.
Rippling muscles under a monochromatic life,
tearing across the grass like an eagle soaring past the earth bound inhabitants.

Be free, my friend, my dearest comrade
and lay down your worries to rest.
-Webster: copyright me, Mandydandykid

God... I should have realized this was going to happen sooner or later. Yes, I have two cats- one, my kitten, I mostly talk about. Sutkei is her name, and she's a bundle of energetic fur. Her name is a play off the song title Suteki da ne, which means Isn't It Beautiful? in Japanese. It's from the game Final Fantasy. She's the youngest of my two cats (being only, roughly, a year and a half or so). She's the one that I've fondly dubbed the "evil kitty", "the MGS kitty", and "that devlish imp in a fur coat". She's fantastic. She's gray with a mottled coat of beige, brown, and white. She even has black rings on her tail like a raccoon and white paws that look like mittens. She's so eccentric looking that I love her.

My other one is the elder feline of the house. His name is Webster (but you can call him Webby for short). No, I didn't name him. We originally got him when he was just a little mite, a kitten that was starved and thrown out on the street in a carrier, on the Fourth of July, and left to die. He was picked up by a woman that took in animals for people to adopt (she had a freaking large amount of animals: cats, dogs, even RABBITS. OH GOD, THE RABBITS. The woman had over twenty rabbits, no kidding! Almost all where white with weird a** red eyes- meaning Albino. They scared the living crap out of me at the time). My Aunt Maria, who had two cats of her own, called us up so we could take the poor rascal home.

We were promised it was a female. Sadly... Webster was a male. Anyone who has cats knows that males aren't as fun as females (which is why I'm having a blast with the identity confused Sutkei of mine, who believes she is still a dog to this day). Still, we took him in. I still have the little "take me home" poster that featured his kitty mug at the time.

13 years later... my black and white aloof male, Webster, has grown to be loved by my family. He's my father's lap buddy and my personal hunter (bringing me remains of birds or mice from time to time, which I happily praise him for). He used to whack the heck out of my poor Sutkei, but he's come to even accept that little imp. He's been through it all, and he's seen plenty of things.

Many months back, he started going through a stage I called "Webby getting senile". Really, I think this was the start. He could be laying still, perhaps staring at some random spot on the ceiling like all (deranged) cats seem to do, and suddenly he'd whirl to face me whilst I was on the computer. Sputtering a hissing hack, he'd show his fangs, chatter a bit, then jump off the chair, walking away as if it never happened. He's randomly attacked the furniture in a frightened fervor, or hiss at absolutely nothing as if he was under constant siege. He'd also have a habit at jumping to the top of the fridge, settling in for a few minutes, then have the strangest fit. It could be compared to with a seizure, but what it was him scratching the back of his ear, but freaking out at the same time. He'd end up falling right off the fridge and landing on the floor, on his back, but continuing the scratch (all the while mewling and yowling).

I knew things were getting bad... but, and I know this sounds cliche', but I never dreamed the cranky old geezer of a cat could ever get as bad as this. I've known him practically all my life. He's 13, whilst I'm still 19. There wasn't much time I could remember not seeing his pudgy black and white face peeking through a bush outside, watching as I approached the house, my heavy school backpack slung over my shoulder. Seeing him like this, deranged and suffering, is starting to scare me. This is not the Webster I've come to know!!!

A month ago he started tumbling down into the worse down spiral of his life. He refused to eat. He began to loose all sense, appearing to hallucinate. He drank constantly, something my dog, Lily, did while she, herself, was dying with diabetes.
Currently, as of present time, he's lost a considerable amount of weight- he's nothing but skin and bones! You pick him up and all you can feel is the vertebrae segments in his spine. He's like American McGee's Cheshire Cat, just black and white spotted instead of blueish gray and tattooed. The fur seems to be literally coming out, on the back of his head, in chunks.

A week ago he came to the house, more deranged and half out of it then ever. His enter right ear is hanging limp, obviously broken. He can't meow anymore. Instead, he makes a strained, pained stressed out "Graaaoohh.." noise. I can even mimic it, and it frightens me when I do it. I can feel my vocal cords strain and pull, and I know it can't be good on him either.

I can hardly focus anymore when I get home from my job. There he is, in a feverish sleep, resting in our flowerbeds. I kept dwelling on the fact that my baby as ailing. I, in a way, don't want to be home when he dies. Then again, I feel it's my duty to ease him one, seeing him pass to the veil beyond.

When I call his name these days, he slowly raises his heavy head, his eyes glazed over and far away. The color, the usual bright yellow-green of his eyes, are often dulled with pain. Sometimes he doesn't respond at all. In those cases, he just sits there in the middle of the driveway, looking lost and confused, making that horrible "Graaoooh" howl.

Today... he lost the ability to make any verbal noises at all. My eyes are actually tearing up as I'm writing this... My cat...! My cat! To me, my family are my animals. I'm extremely loyal to my pets. They're my children, so to speak. They're my pack. I make sure not to treat them as humans, but as the rightful proud animals they are.

Webster.... why?

Tonight I learned something that I wish could have come sooner for my furry friend. Dad is thinking about putting Webster down tomorrow. Oh god... this is hard to write. I just... I don't know. I never thought this day would come. I never wanted it to end like this but, at the same time, I want him put down. I want his misery, his agony, to end. He can barely walk, he can hardly eat... He's not the warrior I used to know, and he's suffering. I can't do this anymore! I can't see him like this!

I want to be there when they cast him into the tides of eternal sleep. I want to be there, holding his paw. I want to smothering him in kisses, holding him tight. I want to murmur sweet whispers in his remaining, working ear. I want him to know that I'll love him, no matter what. I want to be the one to... to...

I can't write anymore. I'm sorry. I can't. I'm crying too hard... I'm not sure if dad is really going to put him down tomorrow... but it seems like it. I'm glad we're go to end his pain. I just... wish he wasn't suffering like this.

I wish upon him an eternity in his personal Meadows of Heaven, where mice spring forth from their hiding holes and endless fields of catnip tantalize his wildest fantasies.

I can't even muster my usual happy ending to this Journal entry. No "peace out, ya'll" or a happy, cute little line to a song, joke, event or anything. I'm sorry to all my readers, who come to know my happy and often satire like way I go about things. I know you deserve better than sloshing your way through this wholly depressing matter but, today... I just can't do it. I'm literally torn, from the inside out, watching my lacerated heart slowly squelch out the rivers of my tears. Life seems cruel, I know... but I know there has to be some good coming out of this. Perhaps the pain will him in the final throes of his fight, and he will able to enjoy life once more, in heaven? It's something I'd like to believe in.

Once again... I'm not sure if he's going to be put down tomorrow. If he is... I'm not going to post it. I can't.

If he isn't put down tomorrow... I only pray that, soon, he is- for his sake.

Rest in peace, my little guardian of the lap, my furry warrior of mice and birds.
You shall be sorely missed.
I love you, Webster. I love you.