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I was not a cat person. There was always something about them that seemed cold to me. Besides, dudes aren't supposed to have cats, right? Dogs are man's best friend. Cats are your reclusive roommate who poops in a box.

Then along came Ray Ray. I was seeing a girl who worked at an animal hospital, and they had a stray kitten that they couldn't adopt out because he had FIV. I agreed to take him partly because I was curious, but mostly because my girlfriend just plain wore me down. Women.

After the second week of waking up with him sleeping on my face, I decided that she could have him back when she pried him from my cold dead hands. I was now a cat person. Yay.

A few years later, I felt something on Ray Ray's back. He also began acting strangely: not coming out to play and unsure on his feet. I took him to the vet, where he began wobbling. Two days later, he'd lost all use of his back legs. An MRI showed a malignant cancer that had grown into his spine, paralyzing him. It was too late to fix it. Meanwhile, Ray Ray would only drag himself out from under the couch to eat, and he was constantly soaked in his own urine. That wasn't a life. So, I made the hardest decision I've ever had to make.

The vet said I didn't have to be in the room. I said I was staying. The first injection paralyzed him. His heart was racing. He was so scared. I told him it would be okay as she gave him the second needle. I had my hand on his chest and felt his little heart slow down, then stop. His eyes glazed over. He was gone. Part of me was gone, too.

I couldn't put his food bowl or toys away for almost two weeks. I was not okay for a long time. I missed my friend. I always will.

Story submitted by Donnie Bonavitacola from Santa Monica, California.

This story was originally shared on The Animal Rescue Site. Share your very own rescue story here!