We had to put one of our cats down the other day. Two-Face, the crazy one, is no more. She’d developed an infection (the name of which escapes me) that basically causes painful sores on the inside of the mouth. It’s not communicable, and veterinarians have no idea what the transmission vector is, but the only cure for it is to remove all a cat’s teeth. Given the expense and bodily trauma of anesthesia to older cats (to say nothing of new challenges in feeding her), that wasn’t really an option.

We tried a regimen of drugs including a desensitizing wash and anti-inflammatory steroid injections, but nothing really seemed to help. She’d yelp when eating soft food puréed with water, or even for no apparent reason at all. She put a pretty brave face on it, and was otherwise as normal as her mild psychoses would permit, but by Tuesday she was down to less than six and a half pounds and wasn’t even interested in food because it was causing so much pain.

So we made the unhappy decision Tuesday morning and took her on her last trip to the vet. The kids were remarkably sanguine about the whole affair, insulated, perhaps, by a youthful inability to comprehend mortal finality. I still feel crummy, though.

Goodbye, Two-Face.