Yesterday our cat Shorty had to be euthanized. He had too many problems and was in acute pain. It hurt like hell to see him go.
We got him about 11 years ago; our daughter brought him home from Tuscaloosa, where he was born in an attic to a stray cat. He was a very timid kitty, and spent the first two weeks with us under a bed.
We lived in Florence, where we had a tall privacy fence. Shorty was amazingly athletic: he could go over an 8-foot tall fence. Mostly, he would hang around in the front yard, and protect us from the encroachments of other cats. But he was definitely The Cat Who Walked By Himself. He was always fond of our daughter, though.
He seemed at first to be a very unpromising, distant cat; but he grew into the family and fit in with us, and with Fred (dog) and Peaches (the older cat). Each morning, when he came in, he rubbed against the dog and stretched out on the carpet. He came to trust us with time, and we grew fond of him. He managed to find a preferred place on top of our sofa.
He liked going on the porch. All he had to do was scratch on the door, and one of us would let him out.
Lately, when this old fart would take an afternoon nap, he would join me for a nap also. And at night he would join my wife and I and watch Burn Notice or Justified or whatever comedy movie we happened to watch.
Rest easy, Shorty. You were a cat in a million! Roll Tide, little buddy!