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When I was nearly 9 years old a family friend of ours' had a litter of kittens. Between my mom and the friend they decided I would receive one as a gift for my birthday. Through daily visits after school I chose a funny, independent but often cuddly little furball I named Saber-a name he proved was quite apt for him.
Saber taught me many things about life, such as responsibility, the joys of teaching skills to a newborn creature, and true companionship. He could read my feelings and respond accordingly like no human I know to this day.
After many years of warm friendship, laughter and trust, Saber grew old and developed diabetes, along with arthritis and irritable bowel conditions. It pained me greatly to see him suffering as he was, no longer able to play and frolic as he once had. Even walking became an ordeal, and he was forced to rest frequently to get anywhere.
After much treatment and all the best effort by his vets, I decided to put him down, and I have never in my life gone through such heartache since then. I was with him when it was done; I watched as the first shot immobilized him and deadened his senses, so that he was even more than before unlike the playful, curious cat I had known and befriended. I held his head and told him goodbye as the second shot came a few minutes later, the one that would forever take him away.
I stayed for long moments there in the room with him until I could not feel his presence any longer. A month after I had him put down I planted a tree in his remembrance
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