Digging for fire

When the cat that has come for the last two years, into the garage where your own cat resides, and decides that this is definitely the place to die, it brings up questions of what family really means.
This cat has been tormenting, assaulting and eating the food of our feline non-stop. Because she lives in the garage, there's not much we could do, except when we found the other in there, to shoo it away or stamp our feet.
Yesterday as we were working outside, I saw that Eamon had "the face" it's the same face I saw when he ran over our enormous frog with the lawn mower, just sort of a sour, sad, and determined look. It's a one of a kind thing, so I followed him and asked what it was, and he said a cat and I started to cry thinking it was ours, but in our garage, or it's death slab, was the evil cat, who apparently had come here to die either because it felt somewhat safe enough to not be molested by another animal, or because it just couldn't go anymore, I don't really know, but it's okay to decide what we want the reason to be.
I spoke to him, let him know that we were there if it needed anything but didn't mess with trying to touch or move him because he had already had a moment with my old man. It took about three hours, and then as the world repays those of us who are kind, Eamon got a boat load of mosquito bites burying him in the woods.