We lost “Piglet” our 14-year old, deaf, asthmatic cat (with one tooth) today. If you’ve had to put your pet down, you know the agony. “When is the best time? Am I prolonging her suffering? Will I really know the perfect moment to bring her in?” The whole thing made me crazy, painfully unsure, and sick to my stomach. You never really get the answers, and if you do, you will still question your actions. I must have talked to four or five friends and relatives — asking all of them for their diagnoses on Piglet’s movements and demeanor. Sue, my loving friend who is a registered nurse, and my uber-compassionate sister-in-law, Leandra, took the brunt of my frenetic calls. For a while, I couldn’t breathe, and if it hadn’t been for my inhaler, I might have gone to the emergency room for my own species. I couldn’t bear to see her suffer. I couldn’t stand to let her go. But it appeared to be the right call. I cried until I couldn’t cry anymore, and then when she was “on the table” at the ER vet, I pressed my ear up against her face, and cupped her head. From that tiny velvet nose I heard a weak but rhythmical purr — and just lost it. That was the last communication between us. So in the light of morning, I dragged myself to the gym, and shared my sadness with gym mates. Those awful waves of grief kept crashing in my head, and the ache never left my belly. Then I received a text from my husband Josh, with this video (below) attached. It was a love session with our other shelter cat, “Mukluk.” A full-on purr festival between another magical furry creature and a man who knew exactly what I needed to see, and hear. Suddenly, I felt enrobed in love. In a 36-second recording, Josh found the perfect way to lift my spirits, appreciate the gifts we have, and suggest gratitude over grief. Could there be any better way to heal? Pictures of PIglet and Mukluk below. Mukluk Purr festival from Lonnie Lardner on Vimeo.