One of my cats died today. Her name was Oreo, to us at least.

She came to us, like many other strays, asking for food, and we complied like we did with every cat we saw. She had an adorable tuxedo-like pelt, and cute, white whiskers. I still remember how her little, pink tongue would peak out of so often. She was always so sweet. She would always crawl into our laps so hesitantly, so gently. She just wanted to be loved. Unlike many of the other strays that came to us, she stayed with us until the very end.

As time grew on, we saw her growing progressively weaker, and it broke our hearts. She looked so fragile: it got to the point where she couldn't even control her bladder anymore, and she couldn't even stand up-right. We knew she was leaving us soon. When she died, I didn't even know how to react. She had been an older cat when she came to us, but it was still a shock I guess. I never wanted to think about losing her; I never wanted to acknowledge that she wouldn't live forever. I couldn't really comprehend that she was gone. It's only now that I'm actually taking it in. I am never going to hear her crackly, little meow or see her soothing eyes stare back into mine. I'm just sorry I couldn't do more for her. I didn't just loose a pet today: I lost a beloved friend.

I'm just going to miss you, Oreo. Rest in peace.