About a week before Sam was born, Diablo started vomiting blood. What timing. I was so exhausted, uncomfortable, and nervous about the upcoming birth that I couldn't get Diablo in to the vet before I became a parent. Then I ended up with a c-section so it was about two weeks before I felt like I could carry the 20-pound cat to the vet. The news wasn't good. He had some sort of a mass in his intestine, likely cancer, and I couldn't afford to invest a whole lot of money in testing and treatments. Between the cost, and knowing that Diablo was 10 years old and not likely to live more than a couple more years anyway, I made the difficult decision to put him down.
After her brother died, Anya was lonely and desperate. She began yowling, night and day. None of us were happy with this situation, so after a year and a half of this, I finally gave her up to my mother. She seemed much happier in her new home, since she had other cats to hang out with (unlike most cats, she was very social).
When we would visit, Sam called her "Lasagna". Lasagna, Anya, they sound pretty similar, I guess. Sadly, Anya joined her brother in kitty heaven this past year.
I made lasagna for dinner a couple of nights ago. As Sam was eating, he thoughtfully said, "Mom, are we eating cat?"
I don't think I'm ever going to look at lasagna the same way again.