Wednesday, December 15 I did one of the most difficult things that I'd ever had to do: I had my cat Babz put to sleep.

For those of you who don't have a pet or don't like animals, you probably will want to stop reading here. For those who love dogs and/or cats or have ever had to make a hard decision, please read on.

Back in 1991--another life and another wife--we had one cat, an orange and white male that my ex-wife named Buster, after the Bugs Bunny cartoon character. Two weeks later, she brought home another kitten--a grey tabby that she named Babz, also after the cartoon character.

At first, I disliked Babz because she constantly fought with Buster. A couple weeks later, they got acclimated to each other and peace resumed in the household.

Fast forward several years and a divorce later, and both cats were in my possession. But when I moved into a house rental, the landlord did not allow pets. Fortunately for me, I had a friend whose mom had a house in the country and she welcomed Buster and Babz into her house.

I visited a few times, and thought all was well. Nine months later, I was in a different house and the landlord said it was okay to have pets. Conveniently, the friend's mom said that Babz was having problems in the house of five dogs and four cats. It turns out she spent most of her time hiding under a bed, trying to stay out of the other animal's ways.

Of course, we took her back. It took a couple weeks for her to return to her old, curious ways. Knowing that she had no competition, she became outgoing and friendly once again and we enjoyed her company.

Then I got married again and we bought a house, and Babz came with us, yet another domicile to explore and conquer. At this point, Babz was about 13 years old, losing some of her physical abilities but still sharp mentally.

My wife, in her infinite wisdom, decided the house needed another pet, so she got "Pepper" from the animal shelter. Babz and Pepper fought like dogs and cats, and the young kitten constantly harassed the old-timer. A dozen times a day, you would hear a loud meow or a growl, followed by a five-second hiss from Babz. This went on almost every day for the next six years.

To make things even more interesting, we welcomed yet another feline into our house back in 2007. A neighbor's sister had a cat that she wanted to get rid of, as she was going to the Middle East to serve in the Armed Forces.

Squeaks became part of the family, much to the chagrin of the matriarch, Babz. For the most part, all three cats got along well, although Babz was very vocal in her dislike of the occasional harassment that she received from the demon duo.

In 2008, Babz was diagnosed with chronic renal failure and was given 6-9 months to live. A week after, I drove with my family to Grand Forks, North Dakota for a hockey tournament. I had to clear the tears out of my eyes more than a few times, having plenty of time to think of various scenarios--most of them bad--while the ladies were sleeping in the car.

We didn't know how long Babz was going to live, so we decided not to do everything we could to prolong her life. We did feed her special food and take her in for more frequent check-ups. The vet was surprised that the lab tests came back last summer not too much worse than they had been two years earlier.

Babz' abilities were starting to decline; after all, she was 19 years old. She could no longer jump up on our bed, but would instead stretch up on her back feet, pawing at my head or arm in an effort to get my attention. More often than not, I would lift her up on the bed and she would fall asleep.

Sure, she had some accidents, and we ended up washing the bed clothes a few times after she decided the bed was more convenient than the litter box.

The 30-inch jump to the floor probably didn't do any favors to her body either, but she leapt off and landed without complaint more times than I can remember.

Last week, I noticed that Babz was having some difficulties. She spent about 23 hours a day sleeping, didn't eat, and would stand still, staring at the wall for minutes at a time. One time, she shook her head, as cats will do, and promptly tipped over, crashing into the heating vent. My heart ached, because I knew the end was near.

On Monday, December 13, I made a vet appointment for Wednesday. 

Then came the fateful day, and I wrapped Babz in a couple of blankets and held her, petting her fur while my wife drove to the vet's office. It broke my heart to hear her pitiful cries, knowing that she only had about another 30 minutes to live.

Once at the doctor's office, we discussed the options and found out there really weren't any options. We decided to end her misery.

The vet put in the tubes to prepare Babz for the euthanasia. We all started crying as we petted and spoke to Babz in soothing whispers, and within a half-minute, she simply slumped on her side and was gone.

The vet and her assistant left us for a few moments so we could say good-bye, and my heart broke as I looked at Babz for the last time and walked out the door.

For those who have never lost a pet, they won't understand, but those who have are probably tearing up as they read this. Pets really do become a part of the family, and a loss of pet is almost as as tragic as the loss of a loved one.

I had Babz for 19 years and she WAS part of our family, as are the other two felines. I wish I would never have to go through with this ending again, but I will, at least two more times.

Rest in peace, Babberz. You were a good cat. We'll miss you...