He was my friend

Last night we lost our cat Fred. He had been very sick and was scheduled to be put to sleep this afternoon, but he decided to go on his own.

This is not especially remarkable, I know. It happens thousands of times every day in homes, veterinarians' offices and animal shelters around the world. We're certainly not the first people to go through it.

But that doesn't make it any easier. There's nothing mundane or routine about losing someone who has been part of your life for a long time, whether they're human, feline, canine, rodent, bird, etc.

Fred and his brother George have been members of our family for 14 1/2 years. We got them from the animal shelter in 2007 when our kids were all 13 and younger. Terry and I went out that day saying we were going to get a single female cat, and instead we came home with these two snow white goofballs.

At some point, and I really can't say when it was, Fred decided I was his human. He got along with everyone in the house – every human anyway...I don't think he ever really liked another cat besides George – but for whatever reason, he loved me most.

For years, Fred would jump into bed at night and lay right up against me. He was gone every morning when I woke up, but most of the time when I was falling asleep, he was right there.

When I had Lyme Disease in 2012 and was laid up for the better part of a couple of weeks, he spent most of his time in bed with me.

He would purr (loudly) for anyone willing to pet him, but he always seemed to find an extra degree of volume for me.

In some ways, Fred lived his life in perpetual angst. A lot of that had to do with the other cats who came into our home after him (Charlie, Ginny and Molly, along with the now-gone Bert). But he had his brother, with whom he often snuggled in the winter months so that both would be warm. Together, Fred and George got through everything life threw at them.

There were a few times over the years when we thought we had lost Fred, including once less than a year into his time with us when we were going to put him down before Terry discovered a wad of dental floss wrapped so far around the back of his tongue that the vet had completely missed it.

Suffice it to say, he went through all nine of his lives and probably a few more.

He started to develop urinary tract issues over the past couple of years, and it got to the point that he had to sleep in the basement storage room at night because he couldn't be trusted not to pee in random places.

A few times he started peeing blood, and each time the vet would give us antibiotics. The blood would eventually clear up, but I'm not sure the medicine had anything to do with it.

We had it all but confirmed yesterday that Fred had some sort of cancer. Could be bladder, could be kidney, who knows? He had so much fluid in his abdomen that it was difficult to see other organs on the x-ray the vet took, which we're told is a pretty good indicator of cancer in a cat.

In the last couple of weeks, he had been lethargic and not eating, and the bloody urine had come back in full force. He was miserable, and there's no doubt it was his time. Putting him down would have been the right thing, had he not beaten us to the punch.

Because even when it's hard, that's what you do for your friend.

To those who don't have pets or who have never been especially close to an animal, it probably sounds silly to talk about a cat as your "friend." After all, apart from his very expressive meows, I did most of the talking in our relationship. There wasn't a lot of dialogue there.

And yet somehow I think there was. I loved him and he loved me, and that was pretty much all that needed to be said or understood.

You know the day will come when a pet will be gone, but you're never quite ready.

I wasn't even sure how to say goodbye. I think he already knew I was a big fan of his, but I told him so anyway, just to make sure.

A proper sendoff is the least I could give the poor guy.

After all, he was my friend.