I was so proud of you. The Best Cat Ever, I used to say. You’re the best cat ever. I don’t have you anymore. A bad illness has taken you away from me and you’ll never come back. I’ll always love you. Your water container is waiting for you. I change the water everyday as I did when you were alive. You are in Kitty Heaven, where there are rivers upon rivers of fresh, sparkling water. Up there no one will put a syringe in your mouth, you won’t have to swallow any more pills that taste disagreeable or strange to you. You eat because you want to, not because you’re being force -fed. Your life has let you escape all that mess. The price we had to pay for that to happen was high. I’ll never see you again in the flesh. I’ll keep on remembering you. I’ll hear your voice calling me as it did when you needed me. I’ll think you are here, in our room. My hand will open the door. Gatita, gatita, I’ll say. Where are you? The room will be empty. And my heart will know you’re gone.