This is my first story that I've posted on here so I thought I'd make it a pleasant one. However in order for there to even be a story at all it was unfortunately necessary for a bit of misfortune.
Exactly one week ago, after being out with friends the previous night, I was walking home at about 2:30am. I live about a minutes walk from the local pub on the corner. I was on the phone to my friend at the time (he always stays on the phone to me until I get home) and as I reached the corner I saw an animal lying on the edge of the path. My first thought was "Aw, it's been run over." As I got closer I realized that it was actually someone's cat. At that moment I really felt for the owner as I knew how I would feel if it had been mine.
When I was finally close enough to see the colors of the cat's fur, my blood ran cold and I completely fell apart. It was my cat. Through my tears I managed to tell my friend, he was nearly home himself by that time, which ran to me. To cut a long story short, we went and got my mum (who was in bed) and one of my brothers, went and brought the cat (who was still alive, barely) into the house where he took his final breaths.
Since then I have been hearing the bell from his collar in my room and scratching at the front door (he used to do this to be let in, didn't like going round the back like the other two). My bed is always freezing apart from the warm space at the end where he used to sit. And I keep seeing his tail as it goes past doorways and round corners, but maybe I'm simply imagining it?
I seem to be taking his passing harder than anyone else. When we first got him we were originally only supposed to be getting one cat, but when I saw him I knew he was meant to be mine. I was the one to find him to bring him into our lives and I was the one to find him before he was taken from our lives.
I truly believe that it is him still with us, and I feel it down to my bones. He's not ready to go anywhere.