It was Alice's trip to the vet. We knew what would happen, but a part of us wanted to think there would be a different outcome.

We took her in and talked about how her condition had worsened. The cancer hadn't gone into remission, and chemo just made her sicker. Her vision in her eyes was failing, she could only react to brightness. And her hind legs were failing. She hadn't crapped in days because she had hardly eaten in days. All she would take was the juice from a can of cat food.

Beth said "if it's time, can you ask about cremation? I don't think I'll be able to stop crying." Thankfully, once it became obvious what was the only humane thing to do, the vet mentioned it first. I guess they handle this situation a lot, so they're used to it.

We stroked Alice, talking in soft voices to her as the vet and her assistant injected 100ml of her final injection. She nuzzled up against our hands, and exhaled with her eyes open. We knew she was gone, but we still stroked her. We wanted her to know that her breathing may have stopped but we weren't going to let her fade to black without knowing we were still there for her.

She was seventeen years old. Beth is heartbroken, and I'm close to tears typing this. I know that I'll press play on the video I'm about to link, and the dam will break.

Good night, sweet princess.

Listen : I Will Follow You Into The Dark - Death Cab For Cutie.