Heath and I loved on him and then took him outside. He had always been fascinated with 'outside' but never actually wanted to go unless one of us was holding him. He perked up noticeably as he took in all the sounds and felt the sun and wind. Heath picked up leaves and sprinkled them over his head (he always liked to watch leaves fly around the yard), his claws digging into my shoulder (another favorite activity) as his eyes darted around following the leaves to the ground. Inside we fed him catnip and shared stories of his shenanigans with doctor.
When it all went down it was peaceful. Both Heath and I were there by his side telling him over and over again how much we loved him and how thankful we were that he was our kitty. I felt the soft spots behind his ears, kissed his paws, and ran my fingers through his thick fur. I held him one last time before placing him in a basket and saying goodbye one last time.
Even though I knew this was the inevitable outcome of this situation it is still hard to believe that he's gone. Somehow, even in a house with three other cats and a toddler, it feels empty and like something is missing. I walked into the bedroom last night and looked for Oliver in his usual place, only he wasn't there. I accidentally called Ivan, Oliver and I swear that I heard Oliver meowing last night and it caused me to wake up. I'm thankful that I fell back asleep before grief took a hold of me again.
Oliver was an amazing cat and he will always hold a special place in my heart. I'll miss you forever buddy.