Odin was a great cat--the best of all. He was smart, beautiful, and the most loving little baby you could ever find. He was an old one, yet still could be playful. He had a soft, warm brown coat with glossy streaks of black. He loved olives, so much so that it became his nickname. He was so smart, he even learned to open doors--something that got him into lots of trouble. He could even know how you were feeling. Whenever I was sad, he was there to snuggle. When I needed some time to think, he left me alone. And when I was happy, he was always there to party right by my side. He was an extremely intelligent cat--both intellectually and emotionally.

Even though he was so amazing, he almost died every day. He had many problems: his heart wall was too thick, he had many bacterial infestations, and we had to pump medicine into him every night. I remember when he had a disease that only 5% of cats survive--and he managed to keep living. It took us thousands of dollars to save him, but we did it. But of course, one day, we all knew that his time had to come.

I will always remember the day he died. He was old--17. Almost three times the six years he was supposed to live. My dad picked me up from school, early. He was crying. That day, it was the school bake sale and I was running around the playground, eating the treats that I had just bought. I asked what was wrong. He said that Odin was about to die. He said that my Odin--my Ode, My Olive, my little kitten was about to die. When we walked to the office to take me out of school, we were both crying.

We went home and fed him all of his favorite foods: ice cream, olives, and all of his other beloved treats. In his eyes, you could see that he thought something was wrong, but we couldn’t tell him what. Soon, the vet came. We took him to the backyard, and gave him his first view of the outside world. Then, we had to put him to sleep.

I cried for days. I imagined his little body, looking so peaceful, and I couldn’t handle it. I cried and cried and cried. My crying became a song, constantly playing in the back of my mind. A little tinkle, a short melody--one that I became so familiar with over those few days after Odin’s death. And even now, I still keep it with me.