The day started perfect with Avalon's long-stretched daily ritual of kisses and cuddles in bed. I had planned to stay the rest of the day with him. I went for groceries early in the morning to be sure that nothing or no-one could separate us later that day.
When I came home 45 minutes later, Avalon had vomited all over the place and was pleading for help. I called the vet and he told me he would be there between two and three pm. Ten minutes later, I was already on my way to the vet myself because Avalon's situation had gotten worse. He was drooling and panting. At the vet's, Avalon put his little head against my belly and his front paws around my waist while the vet was performing several tests and treatments.
Less than an hour after we arrived, the vet discovered that the muscle around his heart had grown to a point that he could hardly breath anymore. He had no more than two weeks to live and would be in constant pain.
Avalon died peacefully in my arms today while I told him how much I loved him, how he had always been the one for me and how happy he had made me.
Never had I expected to love a cat so much. He was the one who taught me about love, about what it meant to love unselfishly. Our relationship was so fusional we could never be more than a few hours without each other. How I am supposed to live the rest of my life without him, I really don't know.
With Avalon I lost my soulmate, my purpose, my inspiration, the one great love of my life. Our love was the kind that transcended time and, I'm sure, will even transcend death.
I will love you forever, Avalon.
