18 years is a long time. 18 years is especially long when the entire time you've been living the same daily routine. My every day with him. It didn't bother me until he couldn't bring himself to look at me. That's when I knew what I had to do.

I'd poison him.
Slowly, so that every ounce of his being would be venomous. Every hair follicle, every enzyme, every piece of DNA that could be traced back to his own very existence would be toxic.

I loved him. He was my better half, and he knew it. I treated him like a king and he treated me like the homeless lady that he'd stumble over on his way to bigger and better things. When I first laid eyes on him I knew he was the one for me. Our destiny brought us together on that very night. I smiled at him and nodded, before he even asked a question. When I took him home that night it was like he had been living there his entire life. He did a quick lap throughout the house and met me in the bedroom, where we spent the rest of the evening.

I was younger, I was happy, but most of all I was in love. All the problems in the world didn't matter, because I had him to come home to. As life went on, I lost some good friends. In fact, I had lost all of them. I talked myself out of believing it had to do with him. Looking back it was easy to see that it was. He repulsed them. He made their eyes red, their skin itch and throat swell. But it all meant nothing 'cause he was mine and no one could change that.

Every morning I'd have his breakfast ready for him when he woke up. He'd make his way downstairs around 11. "G'morning sweetie. Did you sleep well?"
No response.
"How's your breakfast?"
Nothing.

After a while I loved the silence. Sometimes I'd listen real hard, just to hear the atoms and protons in his body scream, as he'd ingest the devious venom. I'd try not to smile.

Weeks went by and I began to wonder if it was working. I'd watch him like I'd use to when we were in love. When every breath was fascinating, every move was pure brilliance. Now I just wondered if this breath would be his last, or if that cough would result in a ruptured artery. But he lived on, each day with growing arrogance.

After a while, I had given up. He was going to be here for a while, might as well enjoy him while I could. So we'd watch the news, my hand on his neck.
"Coming to bed?" I'd ask.
Yet again, nothing.
"Suit yourself"

The nights were always long when his warm body wasn't lying in bed next to mine. Despite everything, I knew that I was going to miss him. And I even questioned what I was doing. Maybe I should give him another chance…

The next morning I woke up and decided to make his breakfast sans death. I got all his favourites together for him to eat. Remembering that he spent the night in the family room, I went to wake him up.

And there he lay. In a puddle of his own blood. His beard was coloured with dry bloody-vomit.
"Fluffy?"
And for a split second I felt remorse for the limp body that use to be my companion of 18 years. My pride and joy. My cat, and best friend.
"I'll put you with the rest"