Our nearly five years old cat, Vincent Reynard Cecil van Gogh, had to be put to sleep last Saturday night due to sudden and exceptional trauma brought on by a congenital heart defect and resultant blood clot. We prayed and tried to save him, but he is gone. Never was there a more loving, spicy, or beautiful and courageous cat in our home.

Guilt has threatened to swallow me up because not much time was spent with Vincent during this summer, with raging heat and many hours on the job. Nonetheless, Vincent had a great life. But, had I known he would be gone anytime soon, had I known he had this condition, I surely would have heeded his requests for love. I would have spent my mornings with him on the front porch, and I would have brought him inside rather than waiting until winter.

My soul hurts like rarely before… Life without my precious little orange-haired boy seems frightful right now.

I also have concern for my daughter, Elsa; my elderly dog, Berryessa; and Vincent’s brother, Clawde, each of whom is also grieving this loss.

In Christ,
Karena (aka Vincent’s mum forever)