Years ago, I adopted an 8 week old kitten from a rescue organization. His name was Bo and he was an all black fluff ball with chocolate brown eyes. Did I need another cat for my cat household? No. I already had three adult cats, but something about Bo stole my heart.

He fit right in to my cat triumvirate and my male Maine Coon adopted Bo as his own. I loved watching this tiny kitten follow my very large 19 pound cat around the house. When Bo wasn’t following his big brother or being groomed by his two sisters, he was snoozing on my shoulder as I watched TV.

We all loved him.

At his first vet visit he was pronounced healthy and thriving. At his second vet visit a month later the vet noted a slightly elevated temperature, but since Bo was active and eating well, we weren’t worried.

Until we were.

At four months old, two months after his adoption, Bo’s breathing became labored. I took him to the vet and went to teach a class. An hour later my vet called to say Bo had died. As they were setting up to do a chest x-ray, he took his last breath.

We found that Bo had FIP – Feline Infectious Peritonitis – an almost always fatal infection in kittens. There was no cure and no treatment for it but that did not make his death any easier.

I was heartbroken. All I could think about was how young and probably so scared he was without me there to hold him or comfort him. And I felt so guilty that I wasn’t with him. All these years later, I still remember that joyful, silly kitten and grieve the life he could have had.

After Bo’s death, I vowed that I would always be with my cats when they leave this life. I want my voice, my scent, my presence to be their last experience – so they know they how loved they were. To this day, Bo’s legacy in my cat household still stands. I am there for them in life and in death.