I mourned in vet's offices, taking the top off Oliver's carrier, assuring him that I hated this as much as him, watching the white-coated doctor press cold metal to his belly. I mourned waiting for test results, cajoling him to eat with promises of hand-fed tuna and baby food. I mourned as he grew skinnier, as I watched his gait slow.
I mourn today, but I am glad the end was gentle and his life, even in his older days, was good.
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