I had to say goodbye to Coco on Friday.
As I'm sure I've mentioned, Coco had been diagnosed with cancer and undergoing chemo since 10/2017. Last week, he started acting not like himself. On Friday, I took him to the vet. They found that the cancer had spread, plus he had developed pneumonia. They could have treated the pneumonia, but it really wouldn't have helped his quality of life because of the cancer. So I had him put to sleep.
In rescue, we say that sometimes you choose the cat, and sometimes the cat chooses you. Coco chose me. We were at adoption event looking at the cats. I opened Coco's cage, and he jumped into my arms. He's been my best friend ever since, and he was with me all through the upheavals of the last couple of years.
Coco also had a well-developed maternal instinct. We adopted or fostered several kittens after we adopted him. He took them under his paw and taught them how to be cats. Including his little idiosyncrasies, like waving his paw over his food to "bury" it after he had finished eating.
Goodbye, little black cat. No more struggling for control of the laptop when I work from home. No more curling up in my lap. No more kneading on my stomach. No more just-enough-claw when I don't feed him fast enough.