Sunday, Sept. 28, 2003: A year ago in this column I wrote about Coco, the kitten that created turmoil in my life before finally wrapping himself around my heart strings. As I sit here writing these thoughts, the sky isn’t quite as blue and the sun isn’t as bright as they once were.

There was a time when I would never have thought that the loss of a cat would one day bring me to my knees in sorrow. That was then. Now, 20 years later, my apartment seems so empty as I go from room to room with tears filling my eyes. I am lost in a world of heartache. It was a week ago that I had to have my beloved Coco put to sleep.

A few months ago, I noticed a profound change in his habits. He was spending more time curled up on the couch or the floor and less in the chair beside me, and he no longer came down the hall to greet me when I climbed out of bed in the morning.

I took Coco to the veterinarian for a checkup and was told that he was showing some slight signs of kidney failure, but that there were things I could do to prolong his life. One was to give him a dose of a liquid solution by sticking a needle in his neck once a day for the rest of his life — which could be anywhere from a few months to another five years. Wanting to keep him alive and with me for as long as possible, I reluctantly agreed to do it.

After the second day of what proved to be a most traumatic event for both of us, I made up my mind to discontinue it. We were not going to end our time together with me poking him in the neck every day with a needle. We would enjoy our time together to the end.

Things went well for several months before he started showing signs that he was beginning to suffer. It was then I realized the time had come to let him go. I was not going to keep him alive just to satisfy my own selfish whims.

A friend drove the two of us to the veterinarian and we remained together until the very end. I cradled him in my arms and said my final goodbye as he quietly closed his eyes in final sleep. Vanity and composure were cast aside as I walked out sobbing unashamedly into the waiting room filled with other pet owners. I didn’t care if the whole world was watching, I had just lost my loving and loyal friend and nothing could have quelled the pain I felt at that moment.

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Sunday, Nov. 9, 2003: It’s going on two months since I wrote those thoughts above. My heart hasn’t healed yet and every day there are mountains of things that remind me of Coco and tears easily cloud my vision.

I know one day I will be able to see the world in a more philosophical and positive way. I know there are things I will come to appreciate, things like no litter box taking up space in my spare closet, no more emptying it every morning no matter how much of a rush I’m in, no stopping in the middle of some project to rush to the store because I forgot to buy cat food, the freedom to come and go as I please without asking friends to care for Coco, taking a vacation or going to visit family members or friends who live out of town without worrying about how Coco is doing while I’m away.

Someday this will happen, but for now I won’t hide my grief or fight against it, for I know in time my heart will heal and the ache will be replaced by only wonderful memories.

When friends ask me if I’m going to get another cat my answer is always the same — “NO!” It isn’t a cat I miss, it’s Coco and he will live in my heart forever. I take comfort in knowing we had a great and loving relationship for 21 years.