When we first met, it seems like you weren’t certain if I could be trusted. You are quite fond of her, and I understand your natural protectiveness. Still, I was glad that we could come to an agreement on that first day. Little did you know that I was going to take you and her a couple states south in a year.

It ‘s funny. You complained the entire trip south, yet you let me be your friend. You didn’t get angry at me very much despite feeling sick for most of the trip and despite a lingering sense of mistrust.

We put you in a stranger’s house for a few months after that. You and she were both guests at first, but after a while, it was just you. Just you, a good friend, and that dog you completely despised. I understand, I’m not a small dog kind of person.

After she and I came back from Rome, the three of us lived in a fancy high rise for a short time. It was, in many ways, the place where you always belonged. You could look down at the entire world from the top floor. You basically owned the house all day as we both left to go to work. I’m sure you miss those quiet days now. Don’t worry, someday soon, those quiet days will return.

When we left to move into a house over a century old, you didn’t complain very much. In fact, you enjoyed the fact that she was home quite a bit. In fact, it was then that we started talking to each other more than ever. You would say hello when I came home and then we’d talk about all kinds of things.

She’d roll her eyes at us, but us guys have to stick together, you know.

When we came home that October night, you wouldn’t leave her side. It took awhile for us to explain it, but all you knew was that she had changed and she was very sad. You brought her a lot of comfort although you didn’t see much of us for a couple weeks. When we got home, you would politely say hello to me and then join her in the living room. She still talks about those times.

And one day, we brought him home.

You complained at how noisey he was and how demanding he was and how he took away time that was rightfully yours. Yeah, I can see your point there. Still, when he was asleep in his bassinet, you came back to comfort her through the tears, just like you had always done for the 13 years previous.

You loved the basement in that old house. Unlike me and her, you could ignore the gunfire. You didn’t flinch that night the police came and asked me what I saw and heard. (You did, however, come up to visit me after he left. Thank you for not telling the cop about the Cadillac in the back yard with expired tags.) We stayed over a year at that house and you were mostly happy there.

When we moved again, you were getting used to it, I think. You took to the new house right away. There was real carpet, real heat, no gunfire, closets, and lots of warm sunbeams. He was still your nemesis, but you could easily escape for the first seven months. After that, you decided to sleep downstairs, away from us.

When we brought her home a few months after that, you pretty much decided that we were crazy. Yet, those first few nights when we came home, you knew something was wrong. You were there for her again. I was glad you were, because I couldn’t be there in the daytime. That was a hard one on all of us, but you gave us so much.

Thank you.

But now, dear friend, I see you hurting. You don’t complain, but I know it hurts a lot. I also know that you are embarrassed about this morning, so I don’t mention it to anyone. I wish I could say it happens to all of us, but you and I both know that is not true. I know that you’re much older than me, but it’s no comfort to me. I wish this circumstance was different.

Saturday, I have to transition you again. This time, though, we won’t be joining you. I know you want to do this alone, but I wish you weren’t leaving so soon. I just wish that you knew it was coming. After all you’ve done for her for these 17 years, I just wish it wouldn’t be a big surprise to you. Unfortunately, I cannot change that.

Thank you for noticing that I am feeling sad tonight. I appreciated the quiet time we shared downstairs while the kids and she are asleep. Maybe you know, I dunno. I mean, I saw the xrays. We both know you haven’t been eating. Anyway, you haven’t purred in quite a while, but you purred a good twenty minutes earlier.

For a brief time, I almost forgot.

I don’t know what our time will be like this week. I dread Saturday in some ways. Our children are so fond of you. I am, too.

Let me say this while you are asleep tonight:

Goodbye old friend. May your suffering end. Tell grandma that we miss her, too.