Eighteen years is a good long run

My cat died today.
She had been sick for a few days and it was time. I feel bad that I had to make the decision but she was in pain. I did not go to the vet with her but my parents did and said at the very end she was still kind of feisty. I think that is what I will remember about her, I know she adored me but she was never overly affectionate with me, at least I don't think she was. She didn't really like other people, which was sometimes nice because it made me feel special.

I knew she was going to die eventually, she was eighteen years old but it still stings to think that when I get home from work tonight she won't be there to meow loudly at me. (She was always loud because she was deaf and didn't know how loud she actually sounded.)
I am glad it happened when my parents were in town because now she is buried next to Willow at my parents house in the country with a picture of me. Call me crazy but I don't think it would have been a fitting way to end our eighteen year friendship with my telling the vet to dispose of her like some trash. She deserved to be buried with the family pets. Sigh.

So, goodbye White Rose "Whitey" Costello - Thank you for being my friend and confidante and I hope we meet again.