Her name was Panini.

I'm so...I'm not sure what the word even is for how I feel. It's not quite sadness, it's deeper. I feel a rock in my stomach, almost like when you're a kid and you did something bad and you know your parents found out but they haven't confronted you yet. It's like a kind of anxiety mixed with fear and sadness.

Every time I walk into my living room I expect to see her in her bed for a few seconds.

I feel guilty. Like I could have done more. Logically I know I did all I could, I just can't shake the feeling that I could have saved her if I just tried harder or something.

She was 16 years old, I adopted her when she was 12. She was my first cat. Is 16 years a good run for a cat? I'm not sure, I have people telling me theirs lived like 19 and 22 years. I can't shake the feeling that I somehow took years from her that she should have had.

Fuck, I miss her. I didn't feel this level of grief or sadness or pain when my grandpas died. I didn't cry for them, I honestly wasn't close with them but they were family and I didn't shed a single tear. Yet I've cried multiple times for Panini.

I think this is the first time I've actually felt grief. It's awful. I wish she was still here. I honestly thought she would recover. I'm so sorry baby girl, I love you so much, please know you were honestly the best thing in my life and there are very few human's who I've loved as much as I love you.