By now you know I love animals. Devoted, clever and funny, they add joy to the lives of their people.

I recently returned from a cold walk to the Post Office, wishing I'd added another layer under my jacket. In the few blocks between my home and the Edmonds post office, I counted seven smallish dogs wearing coats or sweaters. Whether clad in pastel knitted stripes, bright wool plaid or fuzzy dark fleece, each dog looked cozy and proud – and each one made me smile. (Their people all looked cheerful.)

A few days ago a 10-year-old Sussex spaniel named Stump cruised past a variety of elegant dogs half his age and trotted off with first prize in the famed Westminster Kennel Club Dog Show.

The flop-eared once-retired brown spaniel happily wagged his tail throughout the competition. After winning, he took a nap. By now, he probably has a fan club of eldering pets. What a guy!

Through the years, I've heard people talk about their dogs or cats watching television. Several years ago my little black cat Allie noticed the Westminster Kennel Club Dog Show on my TV. She sat motionless, directly in front of the television set, chin tilted, golden eyes following the fancy dogs around the ring. No other program interested her.
She missed it this year, though.

I've never written much about Allie, my quiet, undemanding girl. It's been easy to write about Benjamin and his feline adventures: dialing 911, showing up in Police Beat, running for Cat Mascot at the Northwest shop on the waterfront.

Allie and Ben both were born around 17 years ago, and I rescued them from separate uncertain futures, but that's about all they've ever had in common – besides me.

Ben: 20 pounds of orange fur, shouldering his slight sister away from her food dish or jealously pushing himself onto my lap, roughly displacing her.

Allie: Eight pounds of nervous apology, tiptoeing carefully through life, washing Ben's ears, attempting to sleep curled against him – amazed and pleased if he allowed it.
Ben: Purring, all swagger and affection. Allie: Seldom purring, all sweetness and introspection. And, lately, not well.

I have seen many beloved old animals kept alive after their pleasure in life is gone, and misery follows them about. Sometimes people wait too long to make a humane and unselfish final choice for them. You know what is coming here.

A couple of days ago, alone, I took Allie to the vet. The doctor and I talked about my cat's illness. Eventually, I made the terrible decision and held my dear little cat as she went to her last sleep. Her final gift: she purred in my arms. I wept.

Ben wanders the house, searching for his sister. At night, when I cry, he pushes against my face, comforting me in the darkness.

In the morning, I fill Allie's water dish, and Ben drinks from it, instead of from his own. I guess I should put it away, but it's another hard thing to do.

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(Joanne Bradbury Peterson spent an idyllic childhood in Edmonds, then moved to North Central Washington. After years of raising a family, teaching and traveling, she is happily at home in Edmonds – again. She can be reached at bjbpete@aol.com This e-mail address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it .)