My cat is dying. My sweet, affectionate, lovable, precious, seventeen-year-old, atypical cat… Her name is Hershey and she has been with me basically my entire adult life… all the way back to when life was as expected.

I’m thirty-nine years old and have no children of the human variety. Hershey is my baby. She was here when I was young and thin and carefree… working my first real job after graduating from college. She was here through a divorce, multiple moves, the entire lifespan of my beloved Jack Russell, Jake and what was, in hindsight, a scary bout with depression. Continue reading My Cat Is Dying →