It must have been around ten years ago now, Claire had moved back home for a while. She'd often go into the garden for a cigarette and had noticed a very skinny and ill looking cat by our backdoor one morning. The cat had remained there all day, and by the evening we decided we should take it to the vets as it looked as if it was dying.
We wrapped it in an old blanket and tried to put it in a box, but it kept jumping out, so I had to let it sit on my lap and reassure it by stroking it as we drove to the vets. The smell was awful, the cat smelt really really bad, but I still began to take a bit of a shine to the poor thing.
When we got to the vet, he checked it over quickly and basically said it had cancer and there was nothing he could do for it but put it down.
I know it sounds silly, but I felt really upset on the way home. I barely knew this cat, but I guess I was hoping the vet would be able to do something and it'd be nursed back to health. So even though I did think the cat may be put down, it still took me a bit by surprise.
There's not much else I can write about this story, but what I find odd is that I was more upset about this cat than I was when my fish died.
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