About seventeen and a half years ago, my grandfather died. This may not mean much, but my father, grandmother, and grandfather raised me. In order to help me grieve, my grandmother thought it would be nice to get me a cat. He was a tiny thing, flea bitten, full of attitude, and barely eight weeks old. He was the lone survivor of his litter and with
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Patches was family, and he was a very special part of your life. I'm honestly horrified to read this. Never did I think this would happen...
If there's anything I can possibly do, big or small, tell me.
Take care of yourself; your family, too, and treasure your sacred memories of him. Those memories and his spirit will never disappear. You have my love and support.
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