A half hour ago my father texted me. Asking if I was at work or at home. I told him I was at home and he replied with that he was going to call me in a few minutes. He called me to tell me that they took their cat Rosie (I wrote about her before here) to the vet last night, because she couldn’t stand on her back legs anymore.
She had very bad thrombosis in her body, because of that she couldn’t move her back legs anymore and she was in a lot of pain. It was time to let her go, she didn’t deserve so much pain.
Rosie is the sweetest cat I have ever known. As a child I could do anything to her. Put her clothes on and things like that. Tho, she never really liked it and always ran off. Rosie never bit or scratches. My parents got her from a shelter, one day we got home and they told us to have a look of what was in the bathroom. And there she was, a one year old cat. Shy and confused about what was going on and where she was. We promised out parents to leave her alone and went to bed. I was six years old.
Rosie was an outside cat. Always outside, roaming the world. Sometimes you could find her in the kitchen or in the living room. But that changed when my parents got a dog. Our first dog. That was a big change, because my parents didn’t properly bother to introduce the new dog to Rosie. She was scared, and the dog was too enthusiastic. So her new place was the bathroom where we held her that night to get used to her new home. She was outside during the day, and came in at night. Where she slept in the garage the first years together with the other Boogie (who passed away years ago), and then in the bathroom after that because we moved to a new place, and my mother didn’t wanted the cats in the garage anymore.
Her last few years I saw her becoming older and older. She could still walk the stairs, but she was becoming skinnier — even though she ate normal. Even though she was a senior, she didn’t go out for a good fight. The last time that happened when she was defending her territory she got a big wound on her tail that required stitches.
Rosie was the kind of cat who would never hurt a fly. She was great with kids, she was great with us. I would have love to take her in because it sometimes felt like Rosie was a burden to my parents’. I know it’s not true, and they loved her. And like her name explains, she was a beautiful Rose.
I remember when I was getting older and reaching puberty. I always felt like I was misunderstood. When I felt lonely, or had a fight with my parents. I would just lock myself up in the bathroom with Rosie. Just sitting next to her against the heater. She wouldn’t judge me, she would understand me. She wouldn’t talk back to me, and that was fine by me. Her purring and meowing was enough.
I don’t know what else to say beside that she will be missed greatly.