There are mornings I wake up in tears because I dream about that day again. What could have been done differently. What if it had been something minor. How I could have fucking saved him.
Our cat is depressed and missing him. I know that sounds stupid, but it is true. She looks for him constantly. She's become more vocal, which I think is her way of trying to be as loud as he could be. She goes into our building's hallway and sits and waits. It breaks my heart because I cannot make her understand at all that Tequila isn't coming back.
I want to say so much about his little life, but I still get too damned emotional to go into too much detail. Poke at me in another month. In the meantime, have some pictures instead. He was such a hamball.
First picture I ever took of him. Ready to go home with us after being a stray in California. Best gift my sister ever gave us (she's the one who found him). 2007
Chilling with his cousin Rocky in 2010.
Guarding his boy in 2011.
No idea. Just a dingus.
Plotting world domination.
This was taken on August 26th of this year, two days before we let him go. Looking at it now, I guess you can see that he looked tired and sad. Or maybe I'm just projecting.
I'll end there.