When I met my ex, Brenda, she had two kitties: Oscar, a "tuxedo cat", and Jackson, a "black cat". This was mid-1999. As far as I know, both Oscar and Jackson were ~ 2 years old.

When Brenda moved away, she was unable to take the cats with her and left them in my care. Through the moves and the ups and downs and joblessness and homelessness, I've done my very best to take care of both the "old men" -- as my wife and I have grown to call them.

Oscar was about 12 or 13 years old this year. Over the last month or so he seemed to come down with a cold. He was wheezing now and again with a little bit of a cough. No real sniffles, the occasional sneeze. He lost some weight, and started to sleep a good bit. We were distracted by the puppy, but last Sunday I told Andrea that if he was still ill, we'd bring him to the vet.

Today, Oscar was still sick. So we packed him up in a pet taxi and took him down. There was something of a two hour wait in the waiting room alone -- and maybe 15 to 20 minutes in the little room. The entire time, he was quiet. He didn't want out of his carrier... but he didn't look distressed. There was some heavy breathing, but I thought that was lung congestion.

Shortly after the vet came in, she said he looked very ill, and asked to do some X-Rays. We approved. When she returned, it was with bad news. Fluid was filling Oscar's chest, decreasing both his lungs to less than half their capacity. You couldn't see his heart in the X-Rays, which meant it was extremely possible the fluid was in his heart as well. She said they could crack open his chest and drain the fluid, do some blood work to see if the fluid was caused by cancer or heart failure, and go from there.

But she said that at his age, it would take a toll on Oscar. And she didn't expect him to be able to recover. That, if Oscar were her cat... she would be considering euthanasia.

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Our reaction was fairly immediate. We asked if there was any "quality of life" for him to go home to, and the vet said that she truthfully didn't see it. That he was looking forward to chemo treatment and heart pills some three times a day. He would never get his energy or weight back, and would probably just quietly fade.

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With more than a few tears, we agreed to let the vet put Oscar to sleep. We were there the whole time, from when they put the IV in, to when she put the shot into his chest. Andrea held him in her arms through his last gasps... and until his heart gave out. His ashes will be ready Wednesday afternoon.

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Oscar was named after Oscar the Grouch. He was vocal. He hated being picked up and held, but loved sitting next to you. He loved it when you caught him and would pet his back and tail - and could never sit still when you paid him attention. He liked to hide, only to come out and scream at you for ignoring him. He was declawed (in the front) but has punched holes in shirts and given me scars to remember him by.

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Oscar, I love you. You were my nap buddy, and I'm so very, very, very glad I laid down with you yesterday for a few hours. I didn't know it then, but it was our last time sleeping together. You were my best "picture cat", and always had an expression. You were awesome and emotive.

I miss you.