Poop.
No, not what my children used to finger-paint with when they were 2. Poop, the most loveable little pusser you'd ever want to know.
He was my first cat I got after I left my husband. Actually he was the second, but the first cat was a bastard and I’d rather not talk about him.
Perdue et Trouve, also known as Poopie Doo, or Poop, got sick. He hasn’t been real well for a while now, but today there was blood where there shouldn’t be blood.
We said good bye this morning. He was as lovable as he has always been, rubbing against my arm with his back arched and his beautiful white paws looking all chunky and fat.
He wasn’t well and I know we made the best decision for him.
He was the sweetest cat anyone has ever known. He didn’t have a mean bone in his body. Always happy, always content. I wish more people could be like he was.
Daisy (the bitch Manx) will miss him, as will Casey, (the mini-doxie), but no one shall miss him the way Emily will miss him. She is home mourning him now.
Don't get me wrong, I too will miss him, we used to share a bed! He loved potato chips and French fries, just last week we caught him with his head in a bag of potato chips.
Having a pet is difficult, having to say goodbye is even more difficult. Luckily, Emily insisted on having him cremated so everyone will be able to visit his ashes, whenever you wish!
Goodbye my Poopie Doo, I loved you very much and you’ll be missed forever.
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