On Thursday, August 31, Jeannie and I had our 15-year-old cat, Albert, put to sleep.

Albert was simply the calmest, sweetest, and most affectionate cat I’ve ever known. He wasn’t particularly mischievous, and aside from clawing our sofa he wasn’t at all destructive. He wasn’t interested in playing. He was, however, always happy to be picked up and cuddled. If I was sitting on the couch or one of the recliners, he would invariably hop up on my lap, curl up and begin purring. If I was lying on the couch, he would climb up onto my chest, roll over onto his side, and rub his head against my chin while I rubbed his belly. He had the loudest purr of any cat I’ve ever met. He sounded like a motor. For that reason, Jeannie used to call him “our little lawnmower.”

There are many, many wonderful stories I could tell about Albert. If there is one story in particular that captures his essence, however, it is this:

A few years ago I was working a second job to make ends meet. It was a horrible job at a lousy company. The management treated employees like dirt. One day I’d had my fill of being treated that way and had a verbal confrontation with this punk-ass 22-year-old kid who happened to be a manager. He didn’t fire me, but he did throw me out for the evening.

I felt humiliated, having allowed myself to be put in a position in life where this kid, more than ten years my junior, could push me around. When I got home I vented my anger by punching a metal closet door, scaring the hell out of Albert and our other cat, Katie. They both ran away. I had frightened these two little friends who were in no way to blame for what had happened to me. Feeling lower than low for doing that to the cats, I went upstairs and into the bedroom, where I sat down on the bed and wondered where my life had gone wrong.

Then I saw Albert poke his head through the doorway. He slowly approached me and hopped up on the bed. Normally, this would have been followed by a demand for food or a bid to get me to pet him, but not this time. Instead, he just looked at me. I looked back into his eyes and understood. He knew something was wrong, and even though I had scared him he wanted to be there for me.

It was then that I knew Albert was more than a pet. He was a friend.

Unfortunately, Albert’s health had been failing for the last eight months. On Wednesday, August 30, his condition took a nosedive. Jeannie and I realized we needed to let go of our little friend. On Thursday, August 31, we watched our dear, sweet cat draw his last breath.

We know it was the right thing to do. It would have been cruel to allow him to linger in his condition. That doesn’t make it easier.

Albert, we miss you, little friend. We will never forget you and you will always live on in our hearts.