That Damn cat had a name, Ming.
Ming was a domestic shorthair of the lopsided grey and white. Cute, cuddly and a purr that wouldn't quit.
That Damn Cat could shed. Winter or summer the fur would fly.
That Damn Cat started peeing on the rug. Never stopped the habit though later at about 11 years old we found out she was diabetic. The cat was type 1 insulin dependent and we gave her insulin twice a day and tested her blood to make sure it was right.
That Damn Cat at 15 developed arthritis, we did pills and later injected drugs to help her move and be a cat. Then they didn't help any more.
That Damn Cat peed in the bed, her bed, and then anywhere. Seems at 17 almost 18 years of age moving was too hard. The kidneys were going and the left leg didn't work anymore. She'd drink water and lay on the floor all wet. That cat was fat and so enjoyed eating. But, then she couldn't get to the bowl to eat without help it was a sign.
Today I took Ming to the vet for the last time. I knew it was time when she didn't flinch or try to get away. There was no hope, age and disease took what made her a cat. It was hard to do. It was a matter of dignity for her. The vet understood and was exceedingly gentle. She is gone now.
I miss her. She did things that annoyed me and I loved her and petted her and tried to keep the fur brushed. I did what i could to keep her healthy and safe. For all the years it was a good life for a cat someone dumped, someone rescued, and someone loved.
That Damn Cat left a big empty hole right in my heart.