I have one cat.

Dude was the most awesome cat I ever knew. Everyone that met him thought so too. He was just one cool cat. He was such a lump. He used to lump around with Alex watching TV, and then at night, he'd lump with me in bed - he'd let me cuddle him like he was a teddy bear. He was my friend when I was lonely and always there to comfort me when I needed him. He was such a good boy.

When he started to sneeze early in the morning on Friday, I didn't think much of it. I thought he had dust in his nose and I rolled over and went back to sleep. He didn't get out of bed Friday morning when I got ready for work, but hey, he was a cat and cats are generally lazy. But when I got home Friday and found him still laying in bed, I knew that something was up. I thought it was just a kitty cold, though, and Alex thought so too, so we just took care of him the best we could on Friday night and Saturday. We wiped away the goo from his eyes and nose and tried to make sure that he was getting water at least. I didn't think there were any veterinarians open on Saturday, so I figured that he could probably wait until Monday morning. Sunday morning, he looked like a mess. He had drool hanging from his mouth and he was so listless... Alex pointed out that he probably hadn't eaten anything since Thursday, so I went and got him some baby food and fed him with an eyedropper. I called the emergency vet clinic, but they said it sounded like a feline upper respiratory infection and said that he could probably wait until Monday to see a vet. So first thing Monday morning, I called the vet.

I was able to get him in that morning, which was a huge relief to me because I was leaving that afternoon for a conference in NYC and wouldn't be back until Tuesday evening. As I got his pet carrier ready that morning, he just lay on the bed and cried. My poor baby. Alex got home from work and we took the cat to the vet. Dr Mackey took a look at him and we could tell that she didn't think it was just a run of the mill infection. He was dehydrated. His body temperature was much lower than it should be. He couldn't really keep himself up. He was such a pathetic site. She said that she wanted to admit him and put him on IV fluids to try and rehydrate him and bring his body temperature up and that she'd want to do xrays (to see if it was pneumonia) and some blood work. We consented. We scratched his ears and told him he was a good boy. He just looked so sad.

I left for NYC that afternoon and called Dr Mackey from the train for an update on Dude. He wasn't doing much better. Despite their efforts, his body temperature hadn't increased and on top of that, his blood results were all out of wack. He had very low red and white blood cell counts. His bilirubin was off as was his calcium level. It didn't look good. She said that she wanted to test him for Feline Leukemia, and I told her to go ahead.

The next day during my lunch break at the conference, Dr Mackey tried to call. Unfortunately, we were on the 39th floor of One World Financial Center, and my reception was no good. By the time I got down to the lobby to call the vet back, Dr Mackey had gone into surgery, but the receptionist relayed a message to me: Dude tested positive for Feline Leukemia. Dr Mackey would be out of surgery by three, so I was to call her after that to discuss his case. I did my best to be patient while I waited for the hours to tick away and at my first opportunity - while waiting for my train at Penn Station, I called her back. Dude was doing worse than yesterday. He wasn't responding to the treatments. His prognosis was poor. I told Dr Mackey that I sort of expected that from what she'd been telling me. I told her that it sounded like this was all leading up to the fact that we were going to have to put Dude to sleep. She said that would be her advice. I told her that my train got into Albany at 7 and she said that she'd stay until 7:30 (a half hour after the office closed) so that Alex and I could come in and say goodbye to Dude. A half an hour later she called me back to say that he died on his own.

My poor, poor baby. He died alone at the vet and we didn't get to say goodbye to him.

That was the longest train ride of my life. Alex picked me up at the station and we acted as if nothing had happened until we got to the apartment. I walked in the door and burst into tears. I cried so hard and Alex held me. It had been so hard to be away and to have to deal with the bad news on my own and in public where I couldn't let out any emotion. I'd been able to hold it together pretty well on my phone calls and was able to blink back/choke away the tears. But then I got home and reality hit me like a ton of bricks. Dude wasn't here. Dude was dead. He was gone forever. I'm never again going to walk into the apartment and say, "Dude, where's my baby?" and hear his little paws pound against the floor as he ran to find me. I'm never again going to see him from across the room and have him do the little head raise "hey" at me. I'm not going to try and stretch my legs out in bed only to find his warm, fuzzy, not-so-little body blocking my way anymore. When I'm sad, I won't have him to bury my face in while I cry. Molly no longer has her cuddle-friend. No more Dude.

I cried for what seemed like forever. We decided that we should get out of the house and go get some dinner. On the way to the restaurant, we got a call from Dr Mackey - what did we want to do with Dude's remains? I got depressed all over again. After dinner, we stopped at Target so that I could get a collage frame that I could put pictures of my baby in and we could hang in the hallway to honor him. On the way home from that, I started to cry again. I cried, inconsolably for a good forty-five minutes. I stopped because my sinuses hurt so bad that I couldn't even cry anymore. Today, my eyes look the way they did last Sunday after I'd thrown up so hard the night before, only this time, they got speckled because I cried so hard.

Molly became my new focus. I didn't want to be apart from her. Wherever I was in the apartment, I wanted her right with me. I felt so bad for my little girl. Her best friend had died. She's never known life with us without Dude. They were so very close... constantly cuddling and grooming each other. And then it occurred to me that Feline Leukemia is a communicable virus. I made Molly's appointment with the vet first thing this morning. She was seen by the doctor at 5:30 today and by 6 we knew that she was positive for Feline Leukemia too.

It's just about the saddest thing ever. My most awesome cat died and his little friend now has a grim outlook. She will probably live for years as a normal, healthy cat. But Feline Leukemia is kind of like kitty AIDS. If she gets a cold or any little bug, we need to take her to the vet ASAP, because her immune system is compromised from the disease. Her doctor also explained to me that there may come a day when her body simply can no longer keep the balance with the disease, and her systems will begin to fail like Dude's did. It is just so sad.

These have been some of the toughest few days of my life. Our little family is decreased by one. He really was family to me, and I know that he's only a cat, but he was MY cat for the past six years - my little friend. He had such attitude. He was just such a good cat. And now, I look at my poor little Molly and know that she could die young too - and she's only still a baby, only two years old. My poor babies.

We're thinking we might get another cat. Alex consulted the vet and she said that we have two options: we'll either get another Feline Leukemia positive kitty, or we'll get a "normal" cat and make sure to keep on top of their vaccinations. I don't want Molly to be without a friend forever, especially since she was such a loving cat towards Dude.

He was such a pretty kitty. Such a good boy. I really miss my baby.