...and I'm devastated.

This cat has been my best friend and the source of an awful lot of the affection I need. I adopted him in October, along with his fellow kittycat, Disco- both had feline leukemia, which is almost always fatal when diagnosed. Disco died right before Christmas, and I told Greebo he wasn't allowed to die until two weeks after my birthday (January 8th).

He was still kickin' it, and I was joking with the documentary maker (who filmed him) that Greebo might just never die, because he was in such good spirits. Then we noticed he wasn't eating with his usual gusto- we figured he didn't like his food, we tried some new stuff, including tuna. He eats with gusto for a minute or two, then loses interest and wanders off. He's definitely skinnier now, and struggles a bit walking and jumping.

This is familiar. This is what happened right before Disco hid upstairs and wasted away, til I brought him to the vet to be put to sleep.

I'm really gutted. I've been crying, and probably still would be if I wasn't feeling self-conscious about keeping my partner awake. Instead it's just that painful knot in my throat, rough and raw, biting and ripping me from the inside out.

I spend so much time in this flat that being without a cat would be unbearably lonely. But when I don't know if we're moving away or not, it's not fair to adopt a cat we can't take with us back home. It can be terribly lonely here as it is, during the day, or even evenings, since my boyfriend likes his alone time. Greebo gave me comfort, and company- I cried into his fur many times, and he snuggled me and purred til I felt ok, like I could go on. He was there through some of my hardest periods here.

I don't know what I'll do without him. I love him deeply. I love him enough to let him go, however- I don't want him to suffer.

But I'm heartbroken.