I can't believe it's happened again. It's been just three years since Bella the Monster-Eating Cat died of acute kidney failure, and now our sweet Toonsie is gone, too.

At the beginning of this week, we noticed she was having trouble making jumps she could normally hit with no problem. Beloved took her to the vet, where they drew blood, clipped her toenails and watched her freak out so bad she had to wear the muzzle party hat, which she's never had to do before at the new vet. I stared at her and thought scared thoughts and Googled all the things that could be wrong, and deep in my heart I knew it was one of those things, because arthritis didn't explain the way she was looking at me, that way that says something is very, very wrong.

After two days of waiting, we called the vet, who had just picked up the phone to call us. He said the labs were normal except for one thing: her blood glucose levels. They were almost five times normal. Then he started talking about how to treat it she would need shots twice a day for the rest of her life, which would mean she'd need to be boarded every time we go to visit family, and the person who watched the cat who hisses and tries to bite anyone in a boarding/vet situation would have to give her two shots a day. And to figure out the right dose of insulin, she'd need to spend three days in the hospital. The cat who wears a party hat to get a vaccine would be in a hospital, away from us, getting lots of shots, for three days.

I asked the vet if he could estimate a ballpark of what keeping a diabetic Petunia alive would cost monthly because it seemed like an adult thing to do, and he said he'd call me back. I hung up the phone and started sobbing, scaring Beloved, who was at home looking for a job.

When the vet called back and outlined more clearly what would need to be done and how very far diabetic Petunia had become, I had to hand the phone to Beloved because I couldn't make words come out around the sobs. It was such a shock. It's always such a shock. This is the third time in five years I've been shocked like this.

At first I said it was totally manageable, totally doable. Then I started thinking through how Petunia would feel about hospitalization and boarding and daily shots, and how I wouldn't be able to explain to her that the person she loved most was sticking her every day for a good reason. She hadn't been able to explain to me something was wrong. She still purred and talked to me every time I made eye contact. Cats are notoriously good at hiding illness.

I pictured her in a hospital, being stuck for three days, and how miserable she would be. And I wasn't even sure if it would work, but I know once you take that step of extreme measures with a pet, it's very hard to stop. I gave Sybil thyroid pills every day for years and we sacrificed a mattress to her urinary tract issues.

I knew we weren't going to do it. The vet said if we weren't going to do it, we should put her down immediately, because she could go downhill very quickly. Already in the two days between when we took her to the vet and when he called she'd begun resisting being held and drinking entire bowls of water.

The little angel initially didn't react when we told her, but then, slowly, it began to sink in, and she cried with me. She couldn't go to school yesterday, and I couldn't stop crying, and so eventually I took a break and she and I drove to shelters after Beloved made the final drive with Petunia. He said he stayed as long as he could stand to breathe around the lump in his throat.

We got Petunia the day after Bella died, and this time, we didn't even wait one day. When it comes to pets, we adopt again immediately. Even though a new pet can't fill the void left by an old pet, a purring furrball salves many wounds, and I find my tears are best absorbed by fresh furr.

The tale of getting our new cats -- yes, we got two -- is actually funny, and I just can't summon the funny right now. Maybe tomorrow. But for now, I just want to thank everyone who reached out via email or Twitter or the phone with consolation. Pets are such outlets for our emotions, and Petunia got me through so many hard times. She's been my co-worker these past three years so I never felt lonely when working from home. She was hard to explain people and often misunderstood because she presented as cranky to anyone who didn't spend a significant amount of time with her. Vets hated her, boarding employees shrank from her, and she was at Wayside Waifs for nine months in a room by herself because she was the unadoptable cat who morphed into a crazy affection lap cat for Beloved and me and occasionally the little angel.

I'm glad we made the decision to put her down before she lost use of her legs. She drank two bowls of water the night before we took her in, and the vet told us she was pretty much starving because she couldn't process her food correctly. I'm glad we adopted her, even though she could be a trying cat any time we had to take her somewhere or when people came to visit with small kids. And she barfed everywhere, all the time, so much that we bought two separate steam vacuums to deal with it.

But that never mattered when she did this. Goodnight, Toonsie. I hope you are enjoying the mouse popsicles with Sybil, King and Bella in cat heaven.

Petunia Cookie Dough

2004-2012