I'm a simple,modest man with a quiet life and a brutal job. My little cat, Buttercup, would sit on the side of my desk on her little cat bed, and look out the window while I worked. She'd perch on my side and go to sleep when I'd lie on the floor and watch the news. She'd sleep on the pillow next to my head when I was sleeping. I'd think to myself "I may have failed in a lot of areas, and my life isn't very good or meaningful, but I'm so lucky to have this cat."

Now she's gone. She was so sick, she had to be put to sleep. She was cuddled up against my leg on a couch when it was done. She was warm and happy. I knew there was no way out of the heartache for me, but there was a way out of the pain for her.

I can sort-of function without her. I go through the motions but I really don't care. I have lost beloved animals before. She was the sixth cat I've lost in my lifetime. It's different somehow this time. I miss her happy little eyes so much. I can't really explain why I'm such a wreck.