Disclaimer: I don't own Vin Tanner or anything Magnificent Seven related. I'm not making money of this, I'm writing for my own enjoyment.
Feedback: Always wanted and appreciated.
Authors note: This story is dedicated to my cat, Pieter, who was put to sleep the day this was written. He was my friend for more then half my life and I'll miss him a lot. It's really short. It's mainly to write the emotions off. Big thank you to Phyllis, who was my extremely fast beta. Any remaining mistakes are mine.
Vin Tanner was sitting on the floor of his apartment. Looking around for what would never be there again. He knew it was silly to be this upset. After all, it was just a cat. It wasn't a person who lost his life. Just his cat. Just the one thing that had been a constant in his life for the past twelve years. Whiskey had always been there.
Whiskey. His friends had laughed when they heard the name of his cat. Rosita, the lady who took care of Whiskey when he hadn't been there, had shaken her head and mumbled something about how she didn't want to know what he would call his children. Vin always thought the name fit.
The first night out of the Rangers he hadn't known what to do with the rest of his life so he got drunk. Very drunk. On whiskey. On his way back to his apartment he was followed by a little kitten. The poor thing looked so cold, was so small and sounded so lost, he had taken it back in with him. The next morning he woke with a huge headache to the meowing of the kitten. He decided to keep him and named him Whiskey.
Since that night Whiskey had always been there. He didn't want to go out, was content to stay in the apartment. He loved people. Was happy whenever Vin had company over. Whenever Vin was home, Whiskey wasn't far away, meowing his welcome as soon as he heard the key in the lock. He always seemed to know when Vin was hurt, emotionally or physically. When that was the case Whiskey wouldn't be more then two steps away from Vin. Silently offering comfort. Then this morning, Vin didn't wake from Whiskey's gentle meowing, but from the alarm clock. He found Whiskey on the couch, nothing moving but his head. Vin called sick for work and took Whiskey to the vet right away. There he was told there was nothing to be done. A blood clot in his brain had paralyzed Whiskey.
Whiskey was put to sleep. Vin stayed with him the whole time.
When he got home and washed Whiskey's food dish for the last time, it fell apart. The irony. He never made it to work.
Vin looked up from his musings when he heard a knock on the door.
Come in, he called.
Chris came in and sat down close to Vin
How are you doing? asked Chris
I'm alright. Just a cat. Vin said, eyes downcast.
Chris didn't answer, just sat next to Vin. He almost missed what Vin very softly said next.
But he was my cat, he was my friend.
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