We put our cat down yesterday. No matter how you feel about animals, it’s always hard to see them go. Friday was an “interesting” cat. I’ll never forget the day I brought her home about 8 years ago (I adopted her through someone I worked with at the time). I pulled her out of the box in a slow, dramatic fashion in order to present her to my husband. The process accentuated her long, skinny body, so we had a good laugh. But what usually got the attention of first-time guests to our house was her six-toed front paws. Both these things made her odd, but she was a good kitty (already 8 years old so she mostly just liked to cuddle) and we enjoyed having her. For the most part, she stayed far away from anybody but me and Matt (she loved to sit in his lap while we watched tv). The past year or so, she was much less likely to hide though. After 15 years of being freaked, I think she just got to the point of not caring anymore. Avery especially bonded with her the past couple months. Friday would sleep with her during naps and go to bed with her at night (although she wouldn’t stay very long), and the kids enjoyed petting and playing with her. We knew she wasn’t diong well (we found out in September that she had a thyroid condition). By the time I finally got the guts to take her to the vet, she was all skin and bones. To top it off, she was having accidents on a daily basis, so we knew it was time for her to go. Avery wants to add: “I love my kitty.” Goodbye, kitty.