Well, last night I talked to Dave and my brother about Boy Kitty and about when I would know when to put him to sleep. Last night I had decided to give it a week and see how he is. Today, when I opened up his crate to give him fresh water and food, I could see that he was still laying in urine on puppy pads, that he's still leaking poo, his breathing labored, and he didn't eat much. I changed out his litter box and then sat next to him. I gave him fluids and started to cry. I nodded and said I would make the call. Briefly, I thought of asking my mother to call and make the appointment but then decided that I must be strong and just do it. I told him what I was going to do. I told him I loved him. I told him I was sorry for being a shitty mom sometimes but hoped that he knew I love him so much. I told him that he was the best kitty ever.
I picked up the phone, dialed, it went to voicemail. I called back and my voice broke as I told Shelly on the other end what I was calling for. 9am Saturday. 9am Saturday. This Saturday. 9. a. m.
I took his picture... the last picture I will have of him.
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