The rational part of me knows that this is the best decision. The other part of me is wailing and screaming and doesn't want you to leave.
You have helped me get through a divorce, numerous moves and job changes, and grad school. And let's not forget the last 8 months, which included realizing that I wasn't going to finish grad school on my planned schedule and having to register for classes again, a long-term relationship dissolution, an unwanted move to a smaller home with no backyard for you to roam in safely, a job interview that did not go well, being diagnosed with severe depression and having to decide whether to be hospitalized or not, dealing with assorted cruelties and thoughtlessness, finding out that my Dad has cancer, and dropping back out of school and taking up a full time job so that I could focus on finishing my incomplete classes and finally graduate. And now you are dying.
You were the one that lied down next to me when I was upset and crying, you were the one that perched on top of my hip while I was laying on my side in bed, reading. You were the one to cuddle with me under the covers. You were always there when I got home, sitting up on the bookcase or couch-back, happy to see me and looking at me expectantly for a caress and a head-butt.
Misha knows that something is wrong. He's been jumping up on the table (which is your realm) and wanting more attention than usual. I know he was a jerk when he pushed you off my lap or chased you around the house and bullied you into a corner. I remember coming home once to a miniature crime scene under my sewing machine, with blood splattered up the wall. But I know he will miss you too. And not just because he won't have someone to push around.
I have always been so sorry that your previous owners mutilated your tiny feet by declawing you. And then they didn't bother to declaw Misha. I promise that when I bring another cat into our home, I will never, ever declaw them, barring health reasons. It will be much more of a balanced household if all of my cats have full defensive systems. And I think that Misha could stand a little bullying himself. It might bring his ego down a notch.
I can't say that our home is going to be quieter without you, since Misha will more than make up for it with his loud, grouchy old-man yowling. But I will miss hearing your sweet little chirps and trills. My beautiful sweet gentle baby. My Missy Girl.
I love you. I will miss you. Thank you for being in my life. Goodbye.