Before Gandalf came into my life, I hated cats. I was very much a dog person and didn’t know what people saw in them. But then I saw him begging for food outside our front door. He was calm and friendly, and obviously not feral. We later learned that he’d probably been abandoned when the neighbor behind us moved out.

So we took him in. He got along with our elderly dog and helped us get through her loss. He was there with my mom during her last years. He was there to welcome the stray momma cat and the kittens she had in our garage. He even warmed up to them, eventually.

But he was old. We figured him to be 7+ years old when we first found him. That was almost nine years ago. I moved out last year, but would see him when I visited my dad. I knew that he didn’t have much time left the last time I saw him. But it still hurts.