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Buddy the King

Much like the time he fell into the badly covered and abandoned pool next door, he missing a day until meowing back to my call for him, Buddy was King until the end—dignified, even annoyed at any less than a dignified situation he found himself, whether then or just a short time ago. He hadn’t maowed his Flamepoint meow since Thursday. It was the singular call, one that belied his Siamese and Tabby heritage. 

Saturday morning at Crossroads Animal Hospital, the veterinarian pronounced his paper thin veins would make his anesthesia injection too worrisome for the old cat. She didn't want to keep poking to inject properly, so she opted for a slower acting place to inject—the abdomen.

Her first try at hitting his vein had resulted in a subcutaneous bubble, its blueness translucent through shaved white skin. Before that, she noted he had developed a pronounced heart murmur since his last visit.

She agreed with our determination to let him go. We told her he had stopped eating and drink…

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