My cat passed away this evening. It wasn't unexpected... he was 19 years old, which is pretty ancient in cat terms. He'd also suffered a stroke last summer which had left him shaky unsteady on his feet, and on top of that he'd developed a liver problem that meant he'd needed an intravenous saline injection twice a week for the last year or so.

So it wasn't unexpected. I'd known he was on borrowed time... really, he'd been lucky to have lasted as long as he had. I'd done my best to steady myself for the inevitable, but I still find myself startled and dismayed at how quickly it happened.

I'd come home from work today and seen him resting on the sofa (one of his favorite places). He seemed fine, greeting me with a cursory sniff at my hand to make sure I was who I appeared to be. I reciprocated with a quick scratch at the top of his head and promptly retired for a mid-afternoon nap.

When I came down several hours later to see about some supper, I was informed that he'd just had a seizure and had apparently collapsed next to his water bowl. He was panting and convulsing, his eyes wide but not really seeing anything.

For the next several minutes my folks and I did our best to comfort him, though I don't believe he was really aware of what was happening. I could feel his heart fluttering madly behind his ribs like a trapped moth while I petted him. He curled himself up and kicked at nothing with his hind legs, then suddenly straightened himself out and went limp as though he'd fallen into a deep sleep. I felt his heart slow, and slow, and finally stop. He was gone.

We wrapped him up in a towel and moved him out into the garage... we'll take his body to the animal clinic tomorrow so they can cremate him. My grandfather said that he'd given him a few of his favorite chicken-flavored cat goodies not minutes before the seizure happened, which I'm immensely glad of... at least he got to enjoy one last treat before his time was up.

Vlad was our cat since I was 14 years old, and he's been a fixture in my life for well on 19 years. It's going to be hard coming home to find that he's not here, but I don't want to dwell too much on his passing. I'd prefer to remember all the things I loved about him.

I'll remember the young black cat who one day marched into our house unannounced as though to say, "Okay, I'm your cat... let's get started with a few treats, shall we?" I'll remember how he used to chase after his cat toys, and later, the family dog. I'll remember how he used to go berserk every year when we'd bring in the Christmas tree (pine needles = catnip, apparently), and who jealously guarded his turf from the other neighborhood cats by yowling and puffing his tail out in the most threatening manner he could muster. I'll remember the cat who used to affectionately bury his head in my armpit while I was eating dinner in hope of enticing a bit of chicken off my plate (a tactic that usually worked). I'll remember the cat who changed his mind on a weekly basis about what kind of cat food he liked, and who used to grace me after dinner by curling up in my lap while I watched tv. I'll remember that he was, in every conceivable way, an impeccable and consummate feline.

Goodbye, beloved old friend. I'm better for having known you.