It is never easy to say goodbye — especially when it involves a cat who has spent nearly 20 years with you. When I reported last year about the signs of cognitive dysfunction surfacing in my cat, Little Guy (affectionately nicknamed Dude), I received more e-mails and letters from Catnip readers than any single topic during my tenure as editor.

Many of you shared similar stories of having the good fortune to share your lives with senior cats. Even though you never met Little Guy, you rooted for this easy-going, brown-striped tabby whose "where-am-I?" howls increased in volume and intensity with each passing month.

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Little Guy, my nearly 20-year-old cat, enjoyed cuddle sessions in my upstairs balcony.

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Sadly, in his final year, his once-big frame shrank due to loss of muscle mass. Then his eyesight faded, followed by diminished hearing. He slept through most of the daylight hours, awakening to end up "lost" in a corner or unable to properly groom himself. He couldn't fully digest his meals. He roamed the halls at night, crying out and pacing — no longer able to sleep soundly on his favorite spot on my bed.

I knew it was time. He knew it was time. I spent our final days together trying my best to maximize our togetherness. I served him top-quality treats and wrapped him in comfy blankets. I gave him extra times on my upstairs balcony where he sat on my lap, soaking up the fresh air and warm California sunshine.

I decided to honor Dude by giving him one last gift: to die at home. I didn't want Little Guy's final hours to be filled with stress caused by riding in a carrier inside my car and being placed on a steel examination table in a veterinary clinic. He was never a big fan of cars and seemed only to tolerate veterinary visits.

Instead, he was able to spend his final hours surrounded by his two cat pals, Callie and Murphy; his canine companions, Chipper and Cleo plus my cat-adoring neighbor, Flo, and me. He snuggled close to us, emitting a weak but steady purr until my veterinarian administered an overdose of an anesthetic drug known as sodium pentobarbital. In less then a minute, Little Guy's heart stopped. One by one, each of my pets were able to sniff his body and make their final farewells.

If you ever have the opportunity, I encourage you to consider an in-home euthanasia for your failing feline. It allows your cat to die in the comfort of his home. It also gives closure to other pets in your home who may have formed close bonds with your departed cat.

Nearly 20 years. It is amazing to consider the milestones that Dude and I shared. He came into my life as a young street cat desperate for a permanent home. He would leap up to be petted. Until his final year, he was amazingly healthy, never needing any medication. We moved nine times to three different states during his lifetime. He accepted every new pet in our house without uttering a single hiss. He was a selfless, caring cat who brought a sense of calmness into my life.

Arden Moore
Editor