Ringing out the old

So today is New Year's Eve, and I've got some sad news to report. On Christmas Eve, our cat Ishmael took the long walk to the vet's office. He'd been sick for a while, and we'd been kind of hoping that he'd somehow bounce back and act like his old self again. But he just wasn't the same cat anymore. The most telling sign was that he actually let Vicki put him in the carrier. Usually that process lasted longer and was more highly choreographed than most kung-fu movie fight scenes.

Anyway, it was hard for us to make the call and even harder for us to say goodbye, especially with Samson standing there asking when Ishmael would come back. The people at the vet's office were very kind, and the vet herself gave me the full scoop on what would happen before they did anything. I sat with him and petted his head while they gave him the shot, and I looked into those big green eyes and it was like watching the extinguishing of a candle. I was immediately sorry we had done it and immediately certain that we'd done the right thing.

But when the vet listened to his heart and told me he was gone, I just sat there and cried. [I would say "like a little girl," but Vicki has informed me that this is not only insulting, it will get me into trouble once Jane understands what I'm saying. Point taken.]

He was a good cat, and I'll miss him. It's strange being home and not having him sleeping in the kitchen or charging up the stairs and getting underfoot.

We did our best not to say anything to Samson that might make him afraid (as in "the cat is going to the doctor" or "he's just going to sleep"). I'm not sure that we came up with the best possible answer, but we told him that Ish's body wasn't working anymore. When I returned from the vet, we told him that Ishmael was given the chance to catch the special pet train to the North Pole to go live with Santa.

I mean, it was hard enough telling him his cat wasn't ever coming back; I didn't think he needed to know the rest. Of course, his eventual discovery about Santa may be a little more complicated because of this, but we'll cross that bridge when we come to it. If you have a better idea, well, keep it to yourself because you're about a week too late.

And lest you worry that Sam is taking this too hard, he has cried exactly twice about this in the past week. Once he asked for the cat, and the second time he said he wanted a dog. So I guess we're all moving on.

Despite this somewhat somber episode, this was a good year for our family. Sweet Jane came into our life, Vicki started a new job, Sam became potty trained (mostly), and I was reminded daily of just how lucky I am. Here's to 2008.