It's been a year since I had to say goodbye to Molly. We spent her last night together watching nature documentaries (even as sick as she was, she chirped at all of the birds), and when I finally fell asleep, she moved from her favorite bed, to her favorite spot: right behind the wood stove. She was set in her ways, right up till the end. She was ready. I told her what was happening and she gently licked my forehead. She quietly purred the whole way to the vet's office and got loved on by the whole waiting room. I asked her if she was ready and she gave me one last lick. She was one of those cats that seemed slightly "other." I never had any doubts that she understood exactly what I was saying, she just had the inability to talk back. We had entire conversations of me talking and her meowing back. Molly was easy to love, and developed a devoted following among my friends and family. She was an incredible friend for the 17 years we were together. I'll be forever thankful to the people that dumped her near my house. They'll never know what joy they missed out on, or the supreme love. Molly was roughly 24 years old when she left this world. I was able to give her a second chance and she helped me get through the hardest years of my life. I was so very lucky to be her person.
