A Farewell at Our Usual Spot.

There is a favorite spot where you always used to sit.

I lined a cardboard box with decorative paper, made it neat, and laid a blanket inside—you looked so comfortable sitting there.

Until just a week ago, whenever I sat in my chair, you would come over before I knew it and tap my arm gently.
A modest and gentle signal that meant, "Please give me some food."

There were times I thought it was a little annoying.
But now, I beg you—I want you to tap my arm just one more time.

I'm sorry for being selfish.
Even so, I want you to tap my arm just one more time.

The cat I loved has stopped moving.

I am so ignorant about death, and I have such childish thoughts about it.
That is why I cannot accept what is happening before my eyes.

First, you lost your appetite and would only eat Churu, then you stopped eating Churu, and eventually you stopped eating altogether, drinking only warm water.
And finally, you stopped drinking even the warm water.

You never used to meow, but last night you came right in front of me, looking into my eyes and meowing over and over again.

It was your way of saying goodbye, wasn't it?

Thank you for being with me for fifteen years.
Well then, see you later.

You are still sitting in your usual spot even now.

The End