Skeeter was 10 when we found that he had bone cancer. We adopted him from a shelter when he was 3. So he gave us 7 1/2 wonderful years.
Everyone knew Skeeter in the neighborhood. He made friends everywhere he went. They used to laugh and say that he was part dog and part human. Well, he sure was as far as we were concerned.
He was our lil boy. He was a great mouser, better than most cats. He loved the yard and loved exploring every corner and under every rock.
After the discovery of bone cancer, he went down hill fast. We had to hold him so that he could go potty. He had lost all the strength in his hind legs and some in his front. But he was such a good boy. We went out for dinner one evening, but we were only gone one hour. When we came back, we discovered that he had dragged himself across the living room into the kitchen to go potty on the tile and not the carpet. He then dragged himself back onto the carpet, barely, and laid down. That's where he was when we found him.
We loved him so much, and I know that he loved us back. But when the pain got so bad that the pills were no longer working, we had to let him go. My vet came to my home and we held him and kissed him until his last breath. It was hard, but the pain was all gone. That was the last service that we could do for our beloved Skeeter.
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