When my dad found the cat, terrified and abandoned in a HDB void deck, he named him Maoler. It was first and foremost a Chinese-speaking musician’s pun on Mahler, the Romantic composer, but written in Chinese, 猫乐 literally translates to ‘cat’ and ‘joy’. We’d like to believe that, for the six or so years after his rescue, my youngest little brother enjoyed a happy cat life in my parents’ flat.

Maoler crossed the rainbow bridge today, at the relatively young age of seven. We hadn’t realised, until it was too late, how fiercely that little cat had loved, and how much he’d grieved for his feline brother.

Our family’s older cat, Kiki, died at the end of July, after a long pampered life. For the first time since his adoption, Maoler was the only cat in the household. He got fussy with his food at first—but then again he’d always been a little picky, so it didn’t seem all that unusual—then ate less and less, until finally he ate nothing at all. Nothing would tempt him. Visits to the vet didn’t do much. Maoler had decided to quit food and would not change his mind.

By the time we brought Maoler to the animal hospital on Friday morning, he weighed only 1.95kg, less than half his peak weight. He was usually active and curious (nosy, even), but he’d become lethargic and listless. The vet on duty at the time of his admission said he was very weak and that the prognosis wasn’t good. Shortly after we left him at the hospital, he was shifted into intensive care and a warm blower set up because his body temperature had dropped too low. The next morning, the vet inserted a naso-gastric tube in an effort to deliver some nutrients—no matter how tiny an amount—into his body.

We’d thought yesterday that it might be the end for Maoler and congregated in the hospital, steeling ourselves to say our goodbyes. But the good boy waiting for us there seemed to have a little fight in him yet. He was skin and bones and extremely frail, but he was alert and would lift his head to look around the room as we talked to the vet. We petted and stroked him, giving him all the skritches he’d loved so much. I squatted down so that I was eye level with him and blinked, long and slow. It’s how you tell cats you mean no harm and love them. He held my gaze, and did the slow blink sequence back. Love you too. As the vet left the room to give us some more time alone with him, Maoler suddenly sat up and began taking wobbly steps across the table. He snuggled up against my mum. We left the hospital feeling hopeful that perhaps, with nutrition and time, Maoler could get better.

The update from the hospital this morning wasn’t good. When we went to see him in the afternoon, they didn’t bring us into a consultation room at first, but let us straight into the ICU—he was so weak the hospital staff were reluctant to disconnect him from the fluids that were sustaining him. He lay on towels and barely raised his head. He did slow blink back a little, but this time I mostly saw my own reflection in big eyes that were no longer quite as bright as they’d been.

The vet said that he had protein-losing enteropathy. His body was shedding much more than he was taking in, especially since he wasn’t eating at all. The answer to this equation was obvious. What wasn’t quite as clear was what had caused it; the best explanation any of the multiple vets we’d spoken to over these past few days had was that Maoler must have been extremely attached to Kiki, and that losing his companion had triggered so much stress and depression that he’d entered starvation mode. And while seven wasn’t that old, a seven-year-old immune system wasn’t quite enough to counter the damage his body had sustained from anorexia.

Euthanasia is very quick for animals. One moment Maoler was struggling, panting and uncomfortable, and the next he was still and free of all pain. I wonder what it was like from his perspective. Did it feel like going to sleep, stroked and lulled into slumber by the familiar voices of his family all around him? Was it a smooth journey across the rainbow bridge in search of the big brother cat he’d pined for?

It’s only really just hit me, as I write this, that there is no more Maoler. I didn’t live with him, but the hole he left still gapes. He was so small, so thin, lying on that table when we said goodbye. My heart broke for him then, and no matter how much it keeps breaking now, I can’t go back to stroke that head or boop that nose or lock eyes and blink my love to him anymore.

I keep replaying the scenes at the animal hospital over and over in my head, because I can hardly believe that this just happened today. But that’s not how I want to remember Maoler. I force those mental pictures out of my head; make myself remember Maoler as his fullest self.

I have this photo that’s just peak Maoler even though you can only see him from the back. In it, I’m making a resigned face at the camera as he sits on my belly and makes biscuits on my chest. The day after I take this photo, I find tiny scratches left by a baker who never quite figured out how to control his claws while at work.

That is how I want to remember Maoler. A loving boy who wanted attention and liked to be babied. Who never understood how a laptop or iPad or phone or book could possibly be more interesting than a Maoler, and therefore interrupted everything and expected to be rewarded for saving you from a Maoler-less fate.

Before his death, Duke, Singapore’s most famous orange cat, left a message for his many adoring fans. He (or one of his minions) wrote:

Duke want to give you secret knowledge. It is this: all cat have Proxy Petting wifi, and all cat feel love that you give when you pat one cat. Even those who take Long Nap. So go pat stray cat or pat your own cat, Duke feel your love, always. (If pat cat with hand not possible, is ok, pat cat with your eyes. It is count too.)

I found that thought comforting when I read it back in June this year, feeling sad about the passing of a cat whose exploits I’d followed on social media for years. I was reminded of it today. So when I got home tonight, feeling a little broken in a world without Maoler, I cooed and made a fuss over my three cats as I dished out their dinners. As I write this in bed, Salty jumps up and lays his head in the crook of my elbow for a brief cuddle. Houdini, on patrol as always, comes in to check on things. Begbie bounces in and I scoop him into my lap. He purrs and I squeeze him tight, hoping for a strong Proxy Petting wifi signal that will beam all the way across the rainbow bridge. Then he squirms out of my arms and scampers away, just like Maoler used to do when he got tired of snuggling and decided to go in search of some new mischief.

All cat feel love that you give when you pat one cat. I hope desperately that that’s true, and that wherever he is now, Maoler feels our love. Because just as hard as he’d loved, we love too.