Robbie was 17 when he passed, Mum & Dad did their best for him, as he was really their cat, but truly I belonged to him. He was 8 weeks old & I was 14
at 1st sight, I think he initially adopted me as his Mum, right down to the kneading bit. OMG the stories I could tell you about him, like when he went missing with pink eyeshadow & purple lipstick on to when he managed to open the little fridge & nick my Dad's steak for his tea (Mum rescued it cut the fang marks out & served it up, Dad never twigged
). Poor Robbs, towards the end his paws & face started to swell with water retension, took him to the vets got him injections which worked for a bit, he kept rallying for as long as he could but towards the end he had to be taken back to the vets as he had given up. I saw him the day before & said goodbye as I knew he had already gone, he was just still breathing. I've cried for him on & off for 4 years as I felt so guilty for not going to the vets with him, it's only in the last week or two that i've come to realise that he's happy & in a better place & has company & I know i'll see him again one day so for now I think off him & smile