Simba's Last

I was there when he was born. He was the runt. I made sure each kitten had enough to eat, the second mom, since it was her first litter. He was always the more laid back type, like his dad. He was happy mostly just chilling with my mother or me. He would play with the others, however he just loved being near her or me. I had decided names for all of them, except him. The name Simba kept coming back, yet I didn't want to be a typical cat name owner. I mean I have Misty, Brindleface, Sebastion, Dora, Zira, Dolly, BT (Black Tiger), Bear, Beretta (rainbow), Baby, Pippy, Simone, and Simon.

Simba didn't seem to fit the bunch, until it did. His sweet smile and comforting presence quickly warmed my heart. Soon he became my reliance when I had tough days at work. He became my Emotional Support Animal, and he didn't do anything so special either. He was with me, could tell when I needed to be hugged, and his smile was so sweet. Knowing I could put a smile on his face when I was depressed gave me a sense of happiness when my depression was severe.

When I realized that he was severely sick, it was too late to do much of anything. Even worse, we didn't have the money to fight for him. His chance of survival was, by the vets saying, literally 50-50. His levels were severely out of normal range, his bladder was blown up to the size of a ping pong ball and backing up into his kidneys. He could, or wouldn't barely move, he was in pain. Every time he breathed in i was worried it would be his last.

We had made a previous decision that if he was suffering, we would put him down. He was my boy, getting the words out to the vet was the hardest thing in the world. I was barely able to choke out the words between gasps of painful tears. This boy, my special boy, my heart, his life was in my hands. The world seemed to stop. I didn't care if I had a job all of a sudden, I wanted to die with him.

I worked through the pain and sorrow. My heart died the moment they injected the medicine to stop my boys life. I barely remember the ride home, or the ride to work. The next week flew by, and was torture at the same time. It hurt so bad to sleep in bed with no Simba to sleep beside me.

His brothers, BT, Bear, and Simon; yes they are really his biological cat brothers one from the same litter the other two are from separate litters themselves, could tell something was wrong and did their best to comfort me. Yet, they weren't Simba, and in the following weeks, I tried my best to make one of them into the next Simba.

One day, I did a motion that used to get Simba up on my chest signaling that I needed help, a hug. The others just looked at me, confused. It was then that I realized I was trying to hard. I was trying to turn them into Simba, not enjoy them being them comforting me in their own way. It hurt more than the pain of never feeling Simba's fur again. His soft, yet wiring thick fur, tabby and white.

His smile turned up at the corner, and he would butt my head with his. When I decided to let them comfort me in their own way, BT did something Simba used to do. Crawl onto my chest and butt my head wanting pets. It hurt and felt good to get a hug like Simba's again. It brought tears to my eyes for the first time in nearly a month over my boy.

I didn't even know I needed that little cry session. Afterwards I told BT thanks and that I didn't even know I needed it. I think what made me cry even harder was when I hugged BT, I imagined it was Simba, then when I remembered it wasn't, it hurt, yet I was happy that I didn't loose BT either. BT is a more vocal and forward cat for love. Simon purrs loudly like Simba did. Bear will come whenever I call, wanting love. Sebastion, he is just as chill as ever like Simba.

Simba gave a little bit of himself to everyone else when he was leaving so they all could help me. So I could love all of them instead of singling out one cat and pushing the others out.

My world is still empty without Simba, yet I will keep on living because I know Simba is with me. He will always be with me.