I have so many words left of my essay to write, but I can't do it. I keep stopping and crying. I never cry this much.

I keep thinking about how bad an owner and friend I've been to Tuah. I didn't ask for his forgiveness adequately this morning. I should have said it out loud. How sorry I was. How I could have treated him better, especially during his last days. How I've grown less and less attentive this year, and perhaps less and less caring. I shouldn't have scolded him all those times he did something wrong; he was a cat, it was never his fault. All those times I accidentally stepped on his tail, or wouldn't let him lie down on my bed or couch or floor just in case his fur messed it up.

I remember when his fur was so glossy and smooth, and soft. This morning it was coarse and lackluster. He used to be so fat, and warm, and his breathing and purring were so loud. His tail used to be strong and quick (here I go, crying again). His ears used to twitch at the slightest sound. This morning, as he lay on his side with feet extended, he looked emaciated, his legs were stiff, his tail didn't move even when I stroked it. His ear twitched only once. His breathing was laboured and shallow, uneven at times. I lay my hand on his rib cage just to feel him still being alive, even if he wasn't totally there. Suddenly his lungs would swell and he would look like he was retching. His eyes didn't move or blink. I think he'd stopped seeing. We called his name so many times but he didn't answer. The day before he couldn't even meow at all. Just a soft moan.

My mum, dad and I just hovered around him. I lay down next to him and stroked him just in case he could feel it. There was the smell of cat faeces from when he'd pooped and couldn't move enough to clean himself up. My mum said she heard him meowing loudly a few times in the toilet, and found him sprawled with his limbs askew, like he'd tried to get up but wasn't strong enough to stand. That was when my parents moved him to the computer room and woke us up.

The last moments were horrific. He made a loud moan, the loudest I'd heard him in days. Then his whole body jerked, his legs and tail curling upwards. Maybe twice. Then his head twisted all the way backwards, mouth open, eyes wide and unseeing. That was his last breath. After that, his body relaxed again and his head curled back in. His chest stopped moving.

I somehow thought my cat was immortal since he'd been around since forever, and he hardly ever got sick. He'd always be somewhere in the house, either napping or just watching. His presence was reassuring whenever I was alone at night. I used to consider his loud meows a nuisance, and would try to calm him down by stroking him or meowing with him (lol). Now, I'd give anything just to hear his loud healthy meow.

My sister asked me why I was in such a hurry to adopt another kitten. It's not just that I can't imagine living in this house without a cat around. I realise it's because I want to make up for how terrible an owner I was to Tuah. I want to be a better owner for another cat because I couldn't be one for him. I realised too late my mistakes and growing apathy.

I was crying again throughout this whole post. It's strange because I've never cried this much before. And I've still got an essay to finish in 5 hours. I'm so not in the mood to do it.