Picture Story, an idea inspired by Bobby Hawthorne. Every person has a story. In order to be able to tell other people’s stories, a journalist must be able to tell his own. We asked our new staff take a picture that they hold dear, whether they took it, or someone they knew did and write the story behind the image.

This is my cat, Momo. He died last year. My family got him before I was born. My grandma, who was a vet, found him on the side of the road one day. His back leg was broken, and she took him home to take care of him. After he was all healed up, she gave him to my brother as a gift. He loved momo very much.

Momo favored my brother and followed him around wherever he went. Momo never got sick or injured, he simply just got old. The cat would always be crying. He ended up having a hard time eating and drinking. He started to lose eye sight in his left eyeball, and it hurt for him to walk.

One day, he would not go to sleep. He just kept meowing over, and over and over. My family came to a decision: Today was the day we had to put him down. I got into the car with my mother, and we were ready to go, but my brother wanted a few moments with that cat. He spent 20 minutes crying with Momo in his lap before being able to gather the strength to get up and get into the car.

It was a quiet car ride to the animal hospital. No one really talked. Not even the cat made noises. As we walked into the hospital they greeted us with a smile, but no one smiled back. Except, of course, the goldfish crackers that I was eating.

They put us in a room. Nothing was there but two chairs, a couch, and a trash can with some tissue. My mother told me to sit on the couch with my brother, so I did. He just kept crying all over the place. He let Momo go, and he started walking around the room. The cat eventually got stuck in a corner and we had to help him get out.

A lady came in, and we told her the situation. She then got two syringes: One to pass him out, and one to take him out. She used the first syrigine on him as my brother held him, but he could not handle seeing Momo passed out in his lap. So, he left the room and gave Momo to me. The lady then gave him the second syrigine.

I was able to see him stop breathing. His head rolled over, and his heart rested. He died. He died right there. In my arms.