Our cat Murphy is dying from liver failure right now. The vet gave him five to seven more days to live. He's only eight years old. He's seriously the best cat I've ever had. I love him so much it hurts. There's treatment we could get for him, but it's expensive and we can't afford it.

I was cool as a cucumber at the vet's office today. I even was okay when my husband went back to work. And I was okay when Murphy puked up the little amount of food I managed to get him to eat today (I just gave him a little more and he ate it. Hopefully he doesn't get sick again).

Now, however, I am panicking.

Seriously, I am having trouble breathing and my heart is racing, but I just took my night clonazepam, so hopefully I won't have a full on panic attack.

I'm already not doing well right now. I'm not depressed. I'm just off. I don't feel right. I've been having paranoia and other problems.

It just hit me that he's going to die! Him and I are buddies.