Chapter 2: The Quiet Door

The day it happened was like any other, yet profoundly different. The morning sunbeam felt colder, the silence in the apartment more absolute. Eleanor moved with a quiet urgency, packing items into cardboard boxes. Clothes, books, small trinkets - pieces of their life together were being systematically dismantled and stored away. Patches watched from under the kitchen table, his heart a heavy weight in his small chest.

He tried his usual tactics. He rubbed against Eleanor's legs, meowed his most insistent meow, even attempted a playful swat at a dangling piece of tape. But she seemed lost in her task, her eyes distant. He could sense her sadness, a palpable wave that washed over him, mirroring his own growing despair.

Finally, she knelt down, her hand reaching for him. Her touch was gentle, but her eyes held a sorrow he had never seen before. She stroked his fur, her lips brushing against his head. "Oh, Patches," she whispered, her voice thick with unshed tears. "My sweet boy."

Then came the carrier. The dreaded carrier that only ever appeared before trips to the vet. Patches instinctively recoiled, his claws digging into the rug. But Eleanor was insistent, her gentle but firm hands guiding him, coaxing him into the small, confining space. He cried out, a desperate plea, but the zipper closed, plunging him into darkness.

The journey was short, a bumpy ride in the car that ended in an unfamiliar place. The air smelled strange, a mix of antiseptic and other animals. When the carrier door opened, he found himself in a small room, a wire cage his new reality. Eleanor was there, her face pale and drawn. She reached in, her fingers tracing the line of his jaw. He leaned into her touch, seeking the comfort he always found there.

But this time, it was different. Her touch lingered, then retreated. He watched, confused and increasingly frantic, as she stood up, her back to him. A woman with kind eyes spoke soft