Riker died in pain—and I wasn’t there to hold him one last time

He died in pain. And I was asleep at home. I wasn’t there when he needed me most. I didn’t hold his paw, didn’t say goodbye—and that guilt may never leave.

Today, we lost Riker. His last days were filled with fear and pain.

He had a severe bladder blockage and couldn’t go to the bathroom. We tried special food and meds, but he threw them up before they could help. This morning, my family took him to the vet again.

But we couldn’t afford the surgery he needed. And they had to put him down.

The worst part? I wasn’t there.

I was asleep, completely unaware that the cat who always curled at my feet, purred on my chest, and never left my side… was spending his final moments without me.

Jordan met Riker during a local shelter adoption event in California. Among dozens of kittens, Riker was the only one to hop into his lap and knead biscuits like he belonged there.

From that moment, he did.

Riker was never just a cat. He was presence. Warmth. Comfort. A friend who would rest between your legs at night, purr so loud you’d think he swallowed a motor, and nuzzle into your hand until you gave him the affection he so clearly demanded.

He even trained his brothers to knock over the food container when they were hungry. Clever, bold, mischievous—Riker was unforgettable.

But weeks ago, he stopped eating normally. He cried at the litter box. He started vomiting after every meal. The vet diagnosed a severe bladder blockage.

Jordan’s family did everything they could—but when the food didn’t work and the pain worsened, the vet presented one final option: surgery. It was costly—far beyond what they could afford.

So they made the most painful choice of all.

Jordan wasn’t there when Riker was put to sleep. He didn’t hold him, whisper his name, or tell him how loved he was.

And now, he lives with that ache.

But he also remembers every biscuit Riker made. Every night he spent curled up. Every purr that said “I love you.”

Riker may be gone, but love like that… never truly leaves.