Up, up, up past the Jellicle moon . . .

I don't mean to denigrate the sadness felt by people whose pets die unexpectedly. I have to say though that there is a special kind of anguish suffered by those who watch beloved animals gradually fade away and who have to make the decision to help their companion out of this world. That is the kind of grief my family seems to specialize in.

Seventeen years ago, my parents and sister adopted a kitten from the local animal shelter. This kitten grew into a cat who came with her fair share of challenges, but my parents provided her with a better home than she could have hoped for with anybody else. Celia had been declining for some time now, and my parents--Mom, especially--had been tormented over when to say that enough was enough. Last Saturday was enough.

Anybody who saw Celia painfully hobbling around lately would hardly believe that this was the same cat who could once do this:



or this:



or this:



Farewell, Celia.