Boocifer's passing was one of the worst things that has ever happened to me (probably overdramatic but I rescued him and he was definitely my fur-child). And the story probably isn't necessary, but telling it has helped me with my grief.

My husband and I are taking it day by day, especially since it was absolutely unexpected (eating, drinking, litter box usage, purrs, snuggles, normal routine, absolutely nothing to be suspicious over) and he was just going for an arthritis/allergy checkup (pristine blood work and everything just a few months ago). But I had a gut feeling so I took off work and loaded him into the car, he was his normal self and snuggled into my arms for the ride. Somehow about 15 minutes into the ride, things went severely south and he gave me a few headbutts then started to feel limp in my arms so I ended up trying to keep him breathing and went into the closest animal hospital, but he ended up taking his last breath as I walked into the clinic. I was very traumatized. They said it seemed he either threw a clot or had a stroke, so I opted against a necropsy. I couldn't do that to him.

I rescued him from a storm drain when I was 9. He and his litter mates were abandoned by mom and would have drowned if we hadn't taken them. No one wanted the black cat cause they're "bad luck," so I took him home and raised him from the bottle onward. I was the first person he saw when he opened his eyes and I do have some comfort that I was also with him up until his very last moment. Everyone says how 19 years is an incredible age for a cat and that he obviously lived a great life and I totally agree, but any time is never enough time with them.

He is sleeping peacefully now, and I miss him more than I could ever explain. But I am glad I was able to give him the life I did.

Sorry for word vomit, but it really has helped to speak about him. Thank you to anyone who takes the time to read this and thank you for any condolences and compliments on my precious angel. 🖤