She's beautiful, the cat that lies so serenely on the moss-coated ground. Her glossy white coat is windswept but perfect. Her beautiful blue eyes are wide open, the moonlight reflecting off the azure colour. Her breath is ragged but a trace of her own voice is detectable in her deep gasps. A tiny gray kit lies mewling by her side, nothing more than a frightened scrap of fur. He voices the ancient, instinctive language that only a newborn kit could produce. The beautiful she-cat's eyes are fixed on him, and although she is weak, I can see love burning in her gaze. That love is echoed in my heart as I watch the tiny creature nuzzle his mother expectantly.
"You're... so... beautiful..." she chokes out, each word an effort.
"What will we name him?" I whisper. The she-cat sends me a warm, loving look. My heart feels like it is going to split in two. I am living the last moments that I have left with the cat I love.