We had to put our sweet Booker down today. He was 13 and terribly ill, and uncomfortable. In his younger years he was a caricature of everything fussy a cat could be, standoffish, ill-tempered... in his later years he softened and was much more agreeable to affection, and a real joy and a calming presence. He was the first soul Toia and I agreed to watch over together. Booker was her constant companion during the day while working night shift with me an over-scheduled intern. He was my constant companion late at night or early in the morning before people were awake.

Seeing this photo reminds me how beautiful and how peaceful he was before becoming ill. There were several times we thought we'd lose him, but he'd rally in some small way... ultimately we made the decision for him. The vet told us what we knew already, that we could never cure him, and that his enjoyment of life would only spiral even further downward.

I know we made the right choice, but the house feels empty now that everyone's asleep again.