Last month, our two cats Lois & Clark lost their health battles.  They had a great run -- 14 & 15 years respectively.  Experts tell me that's on the high end of being old.  It softened the blow a bit but didn't make it any easier. 

My wife and I have had the cats as long as we've been married.  I remember their scared faces riding in the car from Mason City, Iowa, to Omaha, Nebraska.  They strained to absorb the new smells of our house while, at the same time, figured out all the good hiding places.  They'd need that information in a pinch when we had visitors.

When one of those visitors became permanent a few years ago -- our son -- they weren't sure what to make of it.  Their eyes and actions led to all sorts of questions -- 'Why is he so loud?' - 'Why do you hold him more than me now?' - and then when he got mobile: 'Why is he chasing me?' - 'Does he have to grab my tail?'  Over time, Clark didn't mind being carried around like a rag doll.  Lois, knowing what was in store, ran.  At Braxton's nap time, both came out of their respective places as if an alarm sounded.  They knew they had two hours to do whatever they wanted without interruption.  I miss that.

When we told Braxton they had died, his response was sadness.  He asked why.  Especially after proclaiming that 'Clark is my best friend!' 

Children have a unique way of dealing with grief though.  After processing what happened and realizing they aren't coming back, he asked two questions: 'Can I get a smaller kitty now - one that I can carry?'  And my favorite: 'Can I get a dog now?'