He was 17. He had been sick for a long time.
He lasted a year and a half after the vet said there wasn't much they could do for him.
He could still take satisfaction in a comfy lap or a nap in the sun or a can of turkey and giblet dinner.
He wasn't my first cat or my best cat or my favorite cat, but he was a living thing that shared my home and I will miss him.
He was my last living link with my mother (except for the Christmas Cactus, I guess.)
As there is comfort in hard work I will go and scrub down the bathroom where he spent his nights.
Then I will blow my nose and wipe my eyes and hug Katie and Fuzzbucket and the Christmas Cactus.
Life goes on.