I’ve loved animals since I was little. They were cats and dogs, although my heart always leaned more toward cats, especially ginger ones. I adopted Rudi as soon as we moved out of our rented apartment. I found an ad: “Free to good hands.” There was a box with several ginger kittens. I called immediately and arranged to come that same day. I went to a pet store, bought all the necessary things, and waited.When I arrived to pick a kitten, I didn’t know which one I would take. But one of them reached out to me, bit my finger lightly, and then licked it—that was our Rudi. He was tiny, full of fleas, and didn’t know how to eat or drink. As for using the litter box—forget it. For the first few days, my husband and I would get up in the middle of the night to feed Rudi from a pipette attached to a handle so it could hold more milk. Three nights we didn’t sleep because the little one was looking for his mom. He was very active, peculiar, and I fell in love with him with all my heart.We named him Rudi because he was ginger (obviously) and also after a character from the show Misfits, because it seemed he had two personalities 😅: one goofy and restless, the other calm and affectionate. Rudi wasn’t overly tactile, but he was always nearby. When I went to work, he slept on my shirt and waited for me. When I came home, he would always run to greet me. He created a special atmosphere, goofed around, bit playfully, ran through the house, took little things out of drawers and then closed them, stole a dish sponge and ran around amusingly with it. He slept in funny positions, loved watching pigeons, and was always near me when I took a bath, sleeping on the bath mat. He tolerated our new family member, the puppy Loki. He had character, a little spice, but was a full member of our family.So when he got sick, I tried to do everything to save his life. At first, he was diagnosed with acute kidney failure. A few days later, Rudi began to go blind in one eye, and they diagnosed iridocyclitis. I went to clinics daily for a week, thinking I could save him: IVs, medications, ophthalmologist, various tests to find the cause. They gave us hope, saying acute kidney failure can be treated. I thought he would be active again, bite playfully, greet me after work, just be near me. But the doctors gave false hope every day, and I believed them.On Thursday, exactly one week after the acute kidney failure diagnosis, we were told it was rapidly progressing cancer. During the ultrasound, I held him and cried. I was angry at the doctors for giving false hope and for letting Rudi live the last week of his life in stress—doctors, carrier, taxi, catheters, IVs, tests, tests, tests… I decided to try a more professional doctor. But even the best doctor gave no comfort. He said with such a condition, one doesn’t survive. Creatinine at 700 is death for a human, and he was amazed that Rudi could even walk. His kidneys had turned into tumors, were four times enlarged, lymph nodes were enlarged (strangely unnoticed by the other doctors). He could only go to the bathroom through one kidney, he wouldn’t eat or drink.The doctor tried to explain that if it were just one kidney, we could try surgery or chemotherapy, but as it was, there was no chance. Rudi didn’t have even months left. I asked if he was in pain. The doctor said kidney disease isn’t too painful, but every day would only get worse. I had to make the hardest decision: I signed a euthanasia agreement. We were given time to say goodbye. I cried, stroked him, and apologized. At one point, he stopped and tilted his head as if asking me to kiss him. I did.The doctor said it wouldn’t hurt: first anesthesia, then medication to stop his heart and breathing. I said I would stay, took a chair, and stroked my friend. He received the anesthesia, went limp, then the other medications… I was there, and he exhaled for the last time. Rudi died, and I couldn’t save him.Next, I was asked to leave, and I decided on cremation. I called Spogad because I didn’t want to use a public crematorium, where they cremate multiple animals and I couldn’t keep the ashes. A very sympathetic woman answered, saying the courier would come in three hours. Spogad offered to take Rudi to a crematorium. They returned Rudi to me, wrapped in a blanket with tape. I walked out of the clinic, went straight until I found a café. I got coffee, went outside, and wanted to see Rudi one last time. I opened the blanket, drank our last coffee, and stroked Rudi.I waited for the courier three hours, crying the whole time. The courier was compassionate. I handed over Rudi, looked at him one last time as he was placed in the car, and walked away. That’s how my friend passed—not just a cat, not just an animal, my friend, a family member. On that day, a part of my heart went with him.A week later, I met the courier who brought me Rudi’s ashes. I hugged him and stood there for a long time. I decorated the urn, wanting it to be as unique as he was. I also wrote a letter to him, which I later burned. Unfortunately, I faced misunderstanding: “It’s just a cat, get another one,” “You still have a dog,” “Why cremation, bury him in the forest.” It hurt so much that I made a YouTube video about losing Rudi, hoping my experience could help others.This summer, I plan to scatter his ashes somewhere in the mountains where it is quiet and peaceful, when I’m ready.My dear Rudi, forgive me for not saving you, for missing symptoms earlier. Forgive me that the last week of your life was stressful. Forgive me for not always having time to play or sometimes being upset when you meowed for too long. And thank you for being here, for the joy and emotions, for enriching our life. I hope you were happy. I love you so much! I miss you terribly. Run across the rainbow, my little ginger ray. Until we meet again 🧡