This past Sunday, we said goodbye to our cat, Roxie. She was 18 years old, and she was with us for 17 of her 18 years. She was in good health until the past month when she started to not really eat very much, which was not her norm. She was an enthusiastic greedy eater. After two trips to the vet and two different treatments for UTIs, her health declined fast last week. She went from being a picky eater to not eating at all. Even though she felt bad, she still wanted to be in your lap and wanted pets; she still purred. We did what we could. That last day, though, it was obvious that her time had come. She no longer wanted to be near us and she never purred. We took her to an emergency vet, went through all of our options (there was really only one), and said goodbye. Liam was with us at the vet; Juliana was not.

I broke the news to Juliana when I picked her up from the dance studio. She cried a bit but recovered quickly. Later that night, she climbed into bed with us and sobbed. Liam shed some tears at the vet’s office, but I’m not quite sure exactly how much he grasps. He still asks where she is. We had a little funeral and buried her in one of the flower beds in the backyard.

This week without her has been weird. I walked into the sun room one day and was surprised to not find her laying in a patch of sun. I swear I heard her paws thundering down the stairs. Her food and water dish are still there, both full. I’ve had to stop myself from calling for her.

We say we’re going to wait a while before we consider getting another cat, but the truth is we all miss having a cat in the house. One thing is for certain, when we get another cat, it won’t be another tortie. I look at torties and just see her.