We lost our beautiful sweet bud Peeves yesterday afternoon. He was around 11 years old, and had had an episode 2 months ago where we found him collapsed and unresponsive one morning. We took him to the emergency vet and were told he had kidney disease, a large lump in his side that was probably cancer and fluid in his abdomen, and were advised to think about putting him down then. I didn't feel ready to let him go then, and so we kept him on fluids for 2 days at the vet. He recovered really well and all his kidney values went back to normal, so we brought him home. For the next two months, he was back to his usual self again, rolling over for belly rubs, cuddling with us in bed at night, kneading all the time. He had lost a lot of weight in the hospital but still had a good appetite, and I fed him his favourite foods 4-5 times a day. The vet wanted us to put him on a kidney prescription diet, but I worried he would lose more weight, so we did half prescription and half weruva / instinct / raw. We added water bowls around the house and he was drinking a lot. He was active and had a good appetite, and seemed to be back to normal again. We'd read that cats could live a decent amount of time with proper management, so I hoped that this meant he would survive longer than we expected, especially since he was putting on weight again and seemed to be in good spirits. Yesterday, his last day alive, he spent the morning hanging out by a window with his buddy (our other cat, Gretchen), checking out the birds and grooming each other. He had some chicken for breakfast with freeze dried treats, but didn't finish his food so I gave him his favourite Weruva gravy for a snack at lunchtime. That he gobbled down, finishing half of it at one go. Then when he went back to his window spot, I brought him the rest of the gravy, and he finished it. I gave him some head scritches and stroked his belly. I then left the house for 2 and a half hours. When I left he stood by the door, and I wish I had lingered for longer to pet him, because it was the last time I would see him alive. I was only gone a couple of hours, but when I came home, he was lying in a narrow corner in a bathroom, between some boxes and a wall. One paw was curled under, the other outstretched, his head resting on it. It looked as if he had gone to sleep, except in a really unlikely location. He'd pooped just outside the bathroom, and it looked like he'd tried to pee in the box but half missed. I can't believe he's gone, I've been crying non-stop since yesterday afternoon. I know he was sick because of what happened two months ago, but he was doing so well, and showed none of the signs I was looking out for like loss of appetite or hiding away. For the past couple of nights I did notice that he didn't want to sleep with us, and that sometimes he would go sit in spots he wouldn't usually sit in. But other times he'd still come cuddle, and he was eating and drinking, and could jump up to a dining chair easily up till the very end. Just yesterday morning when I shook the treat packet he came running to me at full speed. Peeves was my first cat, we got him at the shelter only 1.5 years ago. He was this fat, furry russian blue, and came walking up to me with a big meow. He was 9 years old, which the shelter told us was 'senior', but I didn't think much of it and took him home anyway. He was more loving than I'd ever thought a cat could be, greeting me at the door when I got home each day, following me around the house chirping at me, sleeping on my arm at night. I work from home, so I really spent almost every single day with him. 6 months ago, we adopted a second, younger cat as we felt bad leaving Peeves when we went away on trips. At first he hated her, but after 3 months they became inseparable, and in the past 2 months of his life they cuddled and groomed each other almost non stop, to a disgustingly cute degree. I'm glad he had a friend at the end of his life. Here he is the morning of the day he died. And a couple more, in happier times. I'm finding it so hard to accept that he's gone. I don't know what killed him... if it was the kidney disease, the cancer, or something else. I can't stop blaming myself for leaving the house yesterday for just those two hours. I wish I had been with him when he started feeling bad, that I could have held and comforted him as he passed. It was expected, and yet so unexpected. I'm just devastated.