“Pick” She said, tears muffling her voice. Her words lashed at me, visceral and merciless, nonetheless, her pain was as great as mine. “Artie or her?” My mother echoed. The choice had already been made yet the decision was placed into my hands, the same hands that had nursed him back to health when he was just a kitten, the hands that had fed him, brushed him and even now, were caressing him with the same care and love as they had since the day we met. Helplessly, he purred and kneaded me in an attempt to comfort me and erase the tears that flooded my face and blurred my vision.

I begged and I begged but it was useless. It was done. They were coming to take him tomorrow. My sisters allergies had unexpectedly been triggered by him causing hives and even making it hard for her to breathe, medication, implants, nothing was of use, he had to go.

He was a fluffy combination of white, brown and the cutest patches of ginger, in particular, a patch on his stomach with the mix of colours tickled and warmed the heart. In addition to his friendly, loving, round cocoa eyes. He was the perfect cat.

Relentlessly stabbing, digging into my heart and wrenching it into pieces. The singular thought that he would think we abandoned him engulfed my entire being. Would he think we didn’t want him, think he wasn’t good enough, think we didn’t love him? We did love him.

I love him.