Yesterday I held my kitteh in my arms while a tearful vet injected an overdose of anesthetic into her veins. She was 14, and a month in the ICU might have gotten her another 6 months of life, or it might not have.

It's the end of an era as well as the end of a wonderful friend. At 22, fresh out of college and in my very own apartment, I got 2 cats. Now they're both gone — they died at respectable ages (if not exactly the advanced ages I had hoped for).

I have 3 year-old Poly now. She is officially in the Second Round. A recent health scare reminded me that my parents are getting old as well and are susceptible to the various fatal diseases of older years. And it just seems like more responsibility than I want — to have to be so adult that I have to watch the ones I love die, not by some freak accident, but because it's just their time to do so.

I want to be able to say, "I don't know how I'll live without her." But I know — your heart breaks, you cry rivers, and then you look to the other people (or pets) around you and you keep going. And everyone else is doing the same thing, because everyone else has lost someone they loved too.