I live in a garden apartment in New Jersey. When my daughter was ten, we started feeding a sweet, friendly stray cat. She had long fur and a coat of many colors. She was brown, black, tan, white and orange with a cute pink nose. She was under a year old. She trotted around to all the neighbors' doors and almost everyone in our courtyard fed her. She was so tame we theorized that someone had abandoned her. My daughter begged my husband, who has severe allergies to cats and dogs, among many other things, to allow her to have this cat as her pet. He set up a little "house" outside and we put food and water dishes in it. Eventually my daughter convinced him by picking up this beautiful kitty and bringing her into the apartment. She announced, "I want this." He gave in and we rescued her. I live in an urbanized town on a street that is very busy with traffic. Most strays don't live very long. My husband allowed my daughter to keep the cat indoors. She named her Colours, spelled the British way because when I was in my early 20's I lived in England.

We let Colours go outside, but always watched her. If I would take a short walk, she followed me. She bonded with me quickly and my daughter became jealous. In 1998, her father and I were divorced. She asked me if she could have her own cat and I said yes. We rescued a cat from a large pet chain that gets cats from a shelter. She came with a name, Princess. She's a sleek, beautiful tuxedo cat, black with a white tummy and feet. I was a single mother who worked in various companies as an administrative assistant. My daughter and I took comfort in our cats. Divorce is very difficult for both spouses and children.

When my daughter was 13, she asked me if she could live with her father. It wasn't because she wanted to leave me, but rather because the school where he lived offered her better opportunities. Her passion is music. She left with my blessing. I had Colours and Princess for company. I had a demanding job in a non-profit corporation that is known across the world. I was exhausted when I came home from work, but Colours and Princess met me at the door. That was the high point of my day. I was still a mom. I saw my daughter often. I had my two kitty babies to take care of at home.

My daughter graduated high school and went to college. She graduated with honors. In 2004, I was laid off from my job. I found another job almost immediately, but it didn't work out and I was fired. Consumed with depression, I cried for hours. Colours and Princess comforted me. Finally, my family doctor told me to file for disability. I was born with two heart defects. They were not diagnosed properly until I was an adult. I had one surgery at age 34, had my daughter at age 39, and had a second surgery at age 44. When I filed for disability, I was severely depressed. I went to a psychiatrist and I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder.

I was not used to being home all day. I was filled with anxiety, praying that I would receive disability as soon as possible. It's very difficult to get. My cats were my solace during those dark days. They knew something was wrong, because after working and spending many hours away from home, I was with them all the time. It was winter, 2005. I didn't want to go out. I didn't want to do anything. Colours and Princess looked at me with sadness in their eyes. They knew something was very wrong. I didn't want to play with them. I would lie in bed until after noon. I had days when I didn't get dressed. Sometimes I'd get up and then go back to bed. Colours and Princess seemed anxious when I spent so much time in bed. They would get in the bed with me and nap when I napped.

Because I persisted, in spite of my depression, I was awarded Social Security Disability in July 2005. I didn't get much, but it was better than no income. I was elated and pulled out of my depression. I didn't know if I could afford my pets, but I kept them. They were all I had, the only other living, caring creatures living in my apartment with me.

I worried about them the way I worried about my daughter, the way my mother worried about me. Our pets are truly our children. Because each apartment has its own door, which opens directly to the outside world if you're on the first floor, which I am, I was careful not to let them out. Princess rarely went near the door, but Colours didn't forget her days as an outdoor cat.

After my daughter graduated college in 2009, she looked for a job in her field, but couldn't find one. She took a job as a server in a chain restaurant, something she had done part-time in college. In July, 2010 she moved to Colorado. A couple of months before she moved, she came over, cleaned out a few things she had left in my apartment, and took Princess. At that point I was in another depressive episode. It had been a harsh winter and I was trapped in the apartment for days. With my schedule, which revolves around going to doctors, getting blood tests and other medical tests, and going to the pharmacy frequently, staying in all the time was not an option. I also go food shopping, run errands and do my laundry in a laundromat off the premises. When she came over I cried and we talked for a long time. We had already discussed my financial situation and she knew I could no longer afford both cats. She took Princess home with her. It felt as if I had a hole in my heart, which, ironically, I do.

Colours, the first cat I had ever had in my life, became my constant companion when I was home. Princess is well and happy in Colorado with my daughter. Colours and I have had a wonderful life together. Last year, she was diagnosed with hyperthyrodism. For months I bought transdermal medication from her vet. Because we didn't get a cost of living increase in Social Security in January 2010, I was short of funds. My other expenses went up. I am unable to work at all.

I made a decision to discontinue Colours' medicine. It broke my heart, but she had had the illness quite some time before she was diagnosed. After January, I stopped buying the medication.

Colours lived a full and happy life without her medication. She lost weight, which is part of the illness, but she ate ravenously. I fed her canned cat food in small portions three times a day. The most disconcerting thing about her illness was that she lost clumps of fur and I could see her skin. But, to my surprise, a miracle occurred and her fur grew back. She was skinny, and the new growth of fur not as full as it once was, but she was alive. She was frisky, jumping onto my coffee table, bed and the window sills to look outside. She still ran to the door when I came home and I knew she wanted to go out. She slept in my bed with me every night. She began a new habit. I go to bed very late, around 3 A.M. I have total insomnia, because of my bipolar disorder. I take medication to sleep. I spend the late night hours online in a chat room for people with bipolar disorder. Colours' new habit was strange. When I got into bed, already falling asleep from my pill, she stood up on top of me and looked huge in the darkness. She usually stood on my stomach. I'm on a blood thinner, and even though she was thin, she often left black and blue marks. I didn't mind, I was just happy that she was still alive. She also woke me early in the morning by pawing my face, especially my eyelids. I would get up, feed her, and go back to sleep. I bought an eye mask because I didn't want my eyes to get scratched. What struck me was how intelligent she was. She never liked being held or petted much, but when I was giving her the medicine I used to hold her close and she'd put her head on my shoulder. Then I would take her into the bathroom and close the door so that she wouldn't escape and apply the medicine. So once in a while I still picked her up, very gently, and held her in this way. I think we both needed those hugs.

On the night of Monday, August 2, 2010, I was at the computer as usual. Colours stopped eating that past weekend, so I knew her time was near. I had already made plans with a friend. I had no money with which to put her down, something I didn't want to do anyway, unless she was suffering. I also didn't have money to take her to a vet and have her cremated after she died. I was home that weekend, watching Colours every minute, as a mother would watch a dying child. She didn't appear to miss eating. She drank water and licked ice cubes. She was still jumping onto my couch to sit next to me. It was almost as if she was fighting death. They say cats have night lives; I say Colours had 900.

On Monday, August 2, she was sleeping most of the time, but still breathing. She continued to drink water, but she was not eating even though I was putting her food in her dish. A few days before, I put an old bath rug in my room. Colours was able to jump onto my bed until Monday night. She liked the little rug and used it for her naps. Monday night, she lay down on her rug and slept. I checked her frequently; she was still breathing when I went online. Around 3:30 a.m. I feel asleep while I was online. I took my pill too early and it kicked in. In a way, it was a good thing. I woke up with a start at 5:30 a.m. As soon as I became cognizant, I checked Colours. She was still alive and breathing, she was sleeping on her rug. Suddenly, she shuddered and then went back to sleep. I sat on my bed and watched her and prayed that she wouldn't go into seizures. She didn't. Eventually I went back to sleep. I have to admit I didn't want to watch her die.

I woke up when the telephone rang at 9:45 a.m. on Tuesday, August 3, 2010. It was a recording from the pharmacy, reminding me that some of my medications had been refilled and I could pick them up at my earliest convenience. I didn't pick up the phone, I let the machine answer it. I was scared to look at Colours.

My beloved cat was lying on her little rug in my room, in front of the closet where I keep my winter clothes. She had passed away some time between the hours of 5:30 a.m. and 9:45 a.m. There was no blood, no sign that she had suffered or struggled. She was lying in the same position she had been in most of the evening when she was sleeping, but still alive. Once again, I sat on the end of my bed. This time I cried and prayed. I said the Lord's Prayer and thanked God for taking her in a merciful way. My heart felt empty. I lost my best furry friend. I knew I had to find the strength to do what had to be done. As I write this, tears are welling up in my eyes.

I took my morning medications and tried to compose myself. I put on a pair of latex gloves. I had never handled a deceased animal before, except for pet birds. I carefully put Colours' body in a pretty pillow case that belonged to my daughter. It was very soft and had pink flowers on it. Then I folded up the end of the pillow case and put it into the box my daughter's American Girl doll came in years ago. I sealed the lid with duct tape. Then I wrote on the lid: "Colours, beloved pet cat, D.O.B. approximately 10/96; D.O.D. 8/3/10. Age: 14. Rescued by Karen & Melanie, summer of 1997. R.I.P." I drew a Star of David on the box, because I'm Jewish.

I had to get out of the apartment for a couple of hours. It was free movie day at the library. I got ready. Since I had woken up that morning I had been on auto pilot. I told myself there was nothing further I could do for darling Colours. Her death had been expected and it was a "good" death, considering the circumstances.

When I locked the front door to my apartment and walked down the steps that led to the sidewalk, I ran into the superintendent of my building. He and I have become friends. He knew that Colours was an older cat and that she had a chronic illness. I told him that she died. He asked if I wanted him to bury her. I said maybe and told him where I was going. He said that if I needed him to call him when I got back.

I walked the two blocks to the library. It was a very hot, humid day. I worried about Colours in my hot apartment, then I realized she had passed away. I sat in the small, cool room and tried to relax, but my stomach was in a knot and hurting. My friend wasn't there. I called her, but I didn't tell her what had happened to Colours. I said I was at the library and she told me she was unable to join me. I asked if she'd be home later and she said yes. I felt a bit better after I talked to her. Gradually, I cooled off and watched the movie and became absorbed in it. It was the musical Nine and just the thing I needed to renew my strength.

I walked home slowly. When I got in, I called my friend and asked her if she would like some metal dishes for cat food and water, a cute wooden stand that looked like a cat with two openings in it for a food and water dish, and an unopened container of litter. She had three kittens, which she rescued from the street. She immediately caught on that something had happened to Colours. I'm the kind of person who doesn't like to ask for favors. I told her that Colours passed away that morning. She reminded me that she and her husband had offered, months ago, to help me when Colours died.

After we hung up, I called my daughter in Colorado. She was sweet and sympathetic. If she hadn't brought Colours in from the outdoors, I never would have had a cat, a pet I had wanted my entire life. I packed up the things for my friend's cats. I took them to my car and put them in the trunk. I carefully carried Colours' "casket" to the car. I always knew we'd be making that journey together some day.

I drove to my friend's house; she lives a few blocks away from my apartment complex. I unloaded everything. I carefully placed Colours' body in the box on her porch. We took everything else into the house. I stayed there for hours. Neither one of us was hungry although she offered me food and drink. We waited for her husband to come home. It got dark; we went outside. It became a bit cooler. We talked and waited, but he didn't come. He works in New York City and commutes by train. He told her he was going to stop and buy lyme, to spread over the new grave, on the way home. At 9:30 p.m., I finally went home, my heart heavy.

My friend and her husband buried my dear Colours late that night. I called her a day later and she said it was a good thing I hadn't waited, he was very late. Colours was laid to rest next to their two deceased cats in their backyard. My friend even said a prayer over her. I feel blessed to have such wonderful friends.

Now I feel empty. Something is missing from my apartment. Everywhere I look, I think I see Colours. I think I hear her. My heart is broken. I go to therapy every week because of my bipolar disorder. My amazing therapist is helping me to get through this. She reminds me that I did everything I could for Colours and that I loved her and took good care of her for many years.

I miss Colours' delightful personality. She used to sit on the chair near mine when I sat down to eat a meal. She would try to touch my food and I used to give her choice scraps which she would eat off the table. Sometimes, she would jump down and stand up like a dog and put out her paw, begging for a taste. I miss her sleeping in my bed. I miss her soft meow. I miss her following me around constantly when I was home, often walking in between my legs. I miss her sitting on the arm of my chair and walking across my lap when I was reading the newspaper or a book. Most of all, I miss her love. When I was depressed, petting her head and under her chin made me feel better. Those were the few places she let me pet her and I'm sure she enjoyed it as much as I did. Even though I was a lucky pet owner who had time to prepare, her death was still very sad. I think it really hit me a few days later. I've had bouts of depression and a few crying spells. And so I mourn the death of my dear Colours, my first and last pet cat, as you all mourn the passing of your beloved pets. I feel for each and every one of you. Saying good-bye to a pet is, indeed, just like saying good-bye to a human relative or friend. It hurts just as much.

I feel Colours all around me. She is with me in spirit. I think that she is in Heaven and is being spoiled by my dear mother and my aunts and other relatives and friends who have passed away. But whenever I hear a sound in the apartment, I think it's Colours. Maybe it is. Rest in peace, my sweet, precious kitty. I will always remember how much happiness you brought into my life.