Stewie died almost a year ago when he was sixteen. Sadly, his life ended in suffering; he had kidney disease and all of our attempts to care for him, to make him comfortable, failed. He was skin and bones, and dragged himself from room to room. It was past time when my husband took him to the vet to be euthanized. I sorely regret that I was unable to brave the cold and accompany them.
But when Alan came home and described how he held Stewie and watched the light go out of his eyes, I felt what a mistake I made to leave my dear husband alone with that terrible task.
When I met Stewie he was a kitten. We remember him racing around the rooms of our apartment, scattering rugs when he was little, and the time he got himself to the top of the wardrobe and leaped, aiming for the bed. He was startled as he flew over the bed and landed on the other side.
I moved to Richmond from Boston almost four years ago, and soon after I began to write my memoir (based on journals from my lifetime) I found Valley and L10. God is good!
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