Last Wednesday, First Husband and I had to take our eldest cat, out sweet little Pyewacket, to be put to sleep.
She'd lost some weight, but we hadn't thought much of it - she was, after all, sixteen. Then she lost a lot more, and over the course of only a few days. Then she couldn't walk, and it was time to see the vet and confirm what we both knew; it was Time.
We brought her shell home, and First and Second Husband buried her in the backyard (in what's becoming our own little pet cemetery, now that I think of it - no wonder that part of the yard seems to resist domestication).
Goodbye, Picky. We miss you.