I wrote last week that we'd had a reprieve for our laid-back, kick-ass, extremely dusty moggie, Dietrich (named after Bonhoffer, not Marlene; honestly, the assumptions you people make; look up Dietrich Bonhoffer, you'll be impressed).

In a big unfortunately, the reprieve wasn't to be.  He was just getting too far along in years and it wasn't working.  So this afternoon, we had to take him to the vet and let him go.  I didn't handle it very well, but oh, well.

I'm not one of those people who ascribe human thoughts and motives to their pets (see Manchee in the book; he's genuinely what I believe dogs would be like if they could talk).  Dietrich only ever thought like a cat and acted like a cat and, as any pet owner knows, that's more than plenty.

So, I already miss him.  It was the right thing to do and it's the last favour you owe your pet.  But it still feels pretty terrible.