On the afternoon of October 30, 2004 my next-door neighbor and her children knocked on our den door. As I opened the door, the first thing I saw was a lovely gold and white cat in the arms of the oldest son. Melissa had found him rooting around in her trash that was piled up for her husband to take to the local landfill later that day. We had just neutered an abandoned neighborhood orange cat with touches of white and she thought he had managed to get out of our home without us knowing it.

This cat was definitely not Orangie Man, a lean orange boy. This cat was stockier and more gold than orange. I told them I'd never seen this cat before, but to bring him on in. If he was foraging for food, he had to be hungry. And hungry he was. He ate an entire can of cat food, then dove into the dry kibble before he was filled.

I went on ahead that same afternoon and took him to the vet to make sure that he was communicable disease free since we would keep him until his owners were located. I told Dr. Steve to put the name Goblin on his records because it was the day before Halloween. He was deemed in good health, flea-free, and had already been neutered. Dr. Steve guessimated that his age was 7-8 years old. I was deeply saddened that he was someone's cat - he was such a handsome little boy - thinking he had become lost.

So for the following three months, Melissa and I made flyers and posted them within a 3-mile radius of our home. We knocked on doors throughout our neighborhood and the two adjoining. No one had ever seen this little boy before. Finally, we pulled all the remaining flyers and Craig and I decided we would adopt him out since we had a houseful of feral kittens we were socializing for adoption.

It broke my heart to think that someone had abandoned him, leaving him to fend for himself in an out of the way neighborhood out in the country. He was such a laid-back little fellow and never met a stranger. We placed him up for adoption, but over and over our kittens were placed and he was left behind. After six months of this, I decided he'd had enough stress in his life and he would just become one of our unadoptable brood. We used his arrival date as his birthday, making it October 30, 1995.

Goblin was very socialable amongst the sanctuary cats, never getting into confrontations with the more aggressive kids. He was such a gentleman; any skirmishes that the others got into, he simply walked away. We never heard him hiss and spit, growl, or complain. In fact, he was a man of few words.

When I began working full-time again, he was always first at the door to greet me. The few times he would speak was his meow greeting after I'd come in from work. He dearly loved ear, chin, and base of the tail scritches. He loved rough, warm washcloths for face washing whether he was dirty or not - something we did twice a day simply because he loved it so. I guess he was thinking of his kittenhood and his mother's warm tongue washing him. Regardless, he loved those face washings.

Goblin had enormous soulful gold eyes that matched his golden fur. He had a white nose blaze that extended to the end of his lips and whisker line, a large white bib, white mittens on his front feet, and white stockings on his hind feet and legs. On his right hind foot, he was missing one toenail - just a teeny speck of nail grew there. In all the years we had him, I never had to clip that one nail. He was graceful and mannerly at all times.

In the spring of 2007 I noticed a small bump beneath the skin on his left shoulder. I called Dr. Steve and made an appointment for the upcoming Saturday. By Friday evening when I got home from work, that bump was gone. We took him on in, but Dr. Steve said he didn't see anything wrong, that perhaps it had been an oil gland that became impacted and it opened itself up during the week and drained.

Last September we were dealing with Sylvester's battle of advanced liver failure. We helped him to the Bridge on September 8, 2008. That evening after work during feeding time, I noticed that Goblin was losing weight, too, and didn't eat much of the food we put out for his supper.

We took him to the vet the following morning. Dr. Steve diagnosed liver disease, too. We were totally devastated and immediately began the medications and diet to help stay the advancement of this eventual fatal disease.

Our little boy dropped from 13 pounds to 7 pounds. We fought to bring his weight up. Never once could he eat on his own after that first day I realized he was so desperately ill. I force-fed him his meals for seven and a half months - first with a tablespoon human baby medicine dropper, then with a 10ml (2 tablespoons) syringe. His weight only got up to 8.7 pounds.

I would nearly cry (and at times did) at each meal. He would lay in my arms like a human baby and look up at me with eyes filled with adoration. His eyes would never leave my face as I fed him.

About a month ago, we added to his meds Reglan for nausea that was getting worse with each meal. The following week we added one daily 5m Pred for pain. Two weeks ago, he began his "stand in time." We knew immediately that the disease was reaching his brain. He would get up to get a drink of water or use the litter box and freeze - one little paw lifted, three on the floor. He stopped wanting to sleep with me; something he always did.

Friday week I seriously considered euthanization. He was sounding congested. I figured the blood was backing up into his lungs as he ate. Dr. Steve always leaves the final decision of euthanization to us, though he gently offers to give another week and then make the decision if the pet seems to get no better.

I truly wish I hadn't put Goblin through another week. He was so nauseated with every meal - he truly fought every bite he took. Instead of 15 minutes to feed him, it took at least 30 minutes. His beautiful golden eyes were filling up with a crusty matter. I noticed his right eye had a lot of red in the upper white part. I dragged out cat books and figured he had an eye tumor. Dr. Brad (Dr. Steve's son) confirmed this yesterday.

This was the longest week of my life. Friday I called to make the appointment. He slept most of the night on his side (he never sleeps on his side) beside my chair. Yesterday morning I only gave him his Pred for pain with a couple tablespoons of CatSure. Even the CatSure made him extremely nauseous. When he went to the water bowl, he couldn't pull his back up - he was was walking on his rear "elbows." He was still aware of his beloved scritches and would dip his little head to my hand with each. He would arch his back for the tail scritches. I brushed and combed him for the last time.

Craig and I took him in for his final vet visit at 11:30. For the first time ever, he set up a howl. Dr. Brad said that he probably didn't know what he was doing - the stand in time stances are a sure indication that his brain is affected. Though I held him in my arms and constantly spoke to him, he screamed during the shaving and injection. And then it was over - the second injection wasn't needed. At 11:45 our little gold boy was gone, flying away on golden wings to meet all our little ones who went before him.

As Frost symbolizes in his poem, perfection and purity doesn't stay forever. But, my sweet and gentle little Goblin, your memory is engraved in our hearts for eternity. Though we laid you to rest yesterday, you are here embedded deep in our hearts and souls. We see you under the rocker, on the back of the sofa, and on the coffee table. Your memory will never fade, sweet little boy. Until we see you again at the Bridge, know that we love you and deeply miss you.