My dad called last night with sad news. Domino's been sick for a while, refusing to eat or only barely eating. They took him to the vet a few days ago. The vet rehydrated Domino through an IV, and though he perked up a little after that, his kidneys were still failing.

But he still wasn't eating, and he was only drinking a little bit. He was in pain. My dad took him to the vet yesterday, and had him put to sleep.

Picture by John Luck.

Dad was really broken up about it.

We got Diamond and Domino together, when I was a sophomore in high school. They were littermates, only about six months old. Their original owner was about to move into an apartment that didn't allow animals. Diamond was the more attractive of the two, but he was vain; Domino was more friendly and adventurous.

After an irate neighbor threatened to shoot Diamond, both cats came to live with me in my first apartment in Williamsburg, but three cats (including K.T.'s Sandi) in a two-bedroom apartment was just impossible. Domino - not being the threatened one - went back to my parents. And so Diamond became mine, while Domino became theirs. Or, more precisely, Dad's.

Diamond died of kidney failure last October. It's a frighteningly swift decline. When we were at my parents' a couple of weekends ago, Domino's appetite was already much reduced, and his reflexes even slower than they usually were. Though I hoped he would rebound, I took advantage of a moment when no one else was around to run my fingers through his fur and bid him farewell. I told him that Diamond was waiting for him.

Picture by John Luck.

Goodbye, Domino. May your eternal dreams be filled with sunbeams shining across warm laps, and rabbits and birds aplenty.

--Liz