Last night my dad and I made the really hard decision to put Alex down.
I'm heartbroken, but I know it was the right choice. Last week he had stopped eating, and after a trip to the vet (we figured it was a bit of a stomach bug) we found out he had elevated liver enzymes and were given a prescription for appetite stimulants. At least part of me knew that it wasn't a cure, that it was just to buy us some more time. He stopped eating again on Sunday night, so another vet trip and the hardest choice. We couldn't let him suffer, though.
He was with us for nearly 19 years, and it's so hard for me to remember a time before he was with us. As an introverted only child, I spent a lot of time with him. We got him the summer before I started first grade, brought him home from a house down the road with a "free kittens" sign, in a box from the contractor building my dad's garage. I played with him all afternoon on the back porch.
He was the runt of the litter but he was always the happiest cat. He just purred, constantly. And so, so loud. It was like a white noise machine. And for being a farm cat, he had the softest fur. He wasn't always the biggest cuddler, but he was always there when we were bummed or sick. And I'm glad that I got an extra week with him.
I'll miss you, bud.