Cremation for Riku

I've had Riku since he was a few weeks old, his head wobbling, trying to balance himself to walk. I got to watch him grow into one of the most beautiful cats I've had the honor of knowing. He got to watch me go through nine years of a lot of ups and downs. Break ups, depression, anxiety, an eating disorder, hospital visits, surgery. Every time I felt like I was hitting rock bottom—he was my beacon of light. My hope. A reason to want to get better. Throughout nine years, I've wanted to get better for him because I couldn't bear the thought of leaving him behind. And I got better. Words honestly cannot describe how much he means to me.

An owner knows when it's their cat's time, and they do too. It's his time. And while it's hard enough to emotionally cope with that—it kills me inside that I don't have the money to take care of him once he's gone.

I've always known I wanted to cremate him. I can't bare the thought of just burying him in the backyard of a place I won't live for years and years. I want him to be with me.

I had major surgery in the beginning of January. While yes, it's seven months later, I'm still more than buried in medical bills. A part -time job that pays minimum wage won't even touch the expenses of that, nevermind this on top of it.

I've never thought I'd be someone who made one of these pages. I never wanted to. But there are times when something takes a left turn out of no where and you can't afford it.

I'm not asking for people to sit there and donate to me fifty dollars. That's more than generous than I could imagine. But even the cost of a lunch or a coffee would help me out. If you donate—from the bottom of my heart: thank you so much.