To Patches:

...And I'm brought back to these same thoughts. I'm sorry, Patches. You were, without a doubt, the most under-appreciated cat we've ever had. You were beautiful, and we always commented on how your face should be on bags of cat food. I didn't expect this to happen, and I'm telling myself that I took you to get spayed with nothing but good intentions... but, in reality, it's those "what if" questions that are getting to me. When Mick died, I felt at fault because I was supposed to get up early that morning, but decided to sleep in. If I had gotten up, I would have found Mick and brought him in to lay with Jorgen (like I did every morning), but instead I decided to sleep in. With you, I knew there was something wrong from the moment I picked you up from the vet's office. Your eyes were glazed over and vacant. You looked more depressed than I've ever seen a cat look, and I should have known something was wrong and taken you right back in and asked them to take another look at you. I feel sick knowing that one little moment could have changed everything. One day, that one little moment will be mine. It's a sick reminder of how thin the line between life and death is. I don't believe in an afterlife, but I do believe that there's a chance that your consciousness will be around for a few hours after your death, and though I'm sure you're not reading this post, Patches, I know that we never needed words in order to communicate, and I want you to know how much I loved you. I had moments with you that made me feel connected to you in ways that I can't describe. This shouldn't have happened and I'm sorry that you can't be here anymore. I'll miss you so much.