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Shady (Buddy, Mr. Monster) passed away at home in the arms of his best friend with medical assistance on Monday, November 24th, 2025, after receiving a terminal diagnosis of an aggressive tumor on his jaw. Born in Ventura, California, in the late summer of 2007, he was taken from his mother and littermates by the best friend's then girlfriend at an early age. While details of his birth have been lost to time, the young kitten soon warmed up to his new surroundings and took pleasure in attacking the toes of the college-aged humans as they tried to sleep. Named for his habit of chewing on sunglasses and his jet black fur, his ear-piercing meows, sharp claws, and teeth made him a terror of a kitten. A dog person since birth, Best Friend was indifferent to the small, innocent creature at first. It wasn't till he and his girlfriend broke up that the two started to understand each other.
Fighting to go to sleep in a bed that was now missing another person, Best Friend felt the sharp stab of loneliness. But then, Shady jumped up on the bed and began to purr softly. A quiet, gentle reminder that love was still with him. It was as if Shady's purpose in life was to quell the dark thoughts and feelings you have when you are alone. Shady had looked into the pitch-black void that is loneliness and only to say "No. My fur is darker and softer compared to you void." The simple gesture of being there for him when no one else was made Best Friend realize the true beauty of cats. From that point on, the pair were inseparable.
Over the next 19 years, Best Friend became synonymous with Shady. People who knew him not only asked how he was doing, but also how his feline friend was doing. After college, Best Friend pursued a career in journalism, and the duo found themselves living in Wyoming, Idaho, and Oregon so that Best Friend could put cat food on the table. Eventually, the pair settled down in Portland, Oregon, Best Friend's hometown, after a career change. While the jobs, friends, and lovers came and went, the two remained constant companions through it all, with Shady acting as the unflinching guardian against the void. Every night the pair were together, Shady never failed to get up on the bed, snuggle with his best friend, and remind him that he is not alone.
The last few years of Shady's life were a challenge. First came the diabetes diagnoses. But working from home, his best friend was able to provide him with the needed care and attention to get the condition into remission. Soon after that victory, another medical setback: stage two kidney disease. Again, Best Friend didn't worry about shelling out hundreds of dollars for vet bills and prescription cat food. Even with some practice, he was able to administer subcutaneous fluid therapy on his own to keep Shady hydrated. But Best Friend knew time was running out.
The tumor hit him fast and hard. In a month, he dropped nearly a quarter of his body weight, all while drool continuously dripped from his mouth like snot from a runny nose. His bright pink touge, which was usually hidden behind his teeth, now stuck out ever so slightly, giving him a depry look. It was time. His last few days were filled with plates of canned tuna fish, delicious wet cat food treats, roasted chicken, salami, and all the cuddles the pair could stand. On the night before he passed, Shady crawled out from his hiding spot and climbed to the top of the bed. Best Friend showered him with pets, and he purred loudly. It was almost as if he was trying to speak. To say: "You are not alone."
Now, I am alone; my best friend, who spent his life keeping the void at bay, is gone. I'm living for both of us and hoping that someday, somewhere, we will be together again.