She was 23 years old, and she held on as long as she could. Longer than I thought she'd last, actually. And of course this would happen while Mom is out of town. I wish she could have been here because I feel like poor Murphy never really got to be comforted by her momma. She left us sometime early this morning, I think, because I didn't go to bed until nearly 3 am. When I woke up at ten, there she was. In the living room, more or less where I left her when I went to bed.
So what has my morning consisted of? Begrudgingly waking up, hitting the bathroom, and finding the cat. Letting dad know and then standing outside while we dug a hole, and then distracting our dog while he buried her.
I'll even miss her incredibly loud, I-have-to-pause-my-DVD-because-I-can't-hear-over-her meowing. And feeding her when mom goes out of town, and cleaning the stupid catbox.
R.I.P. Murphy. Maybe now Cowboy will have a friend upstairs.