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A solemn monthly anniversary. We did the hardest loving thing. We had to say goodbye to Liam, and sometimes (like today) I firmly believe there should not be a heaven for us but for good pets. Liam would be there, along with all of our other pets. He would bask in a constant sun, content to sleep away eternity with old friends and new. They would never have to worry about food, loud noises, threats, or predators. They would play. They would rest. They would eat if they wanted, and whatever they wanted would be in abundance. Good pets are deserving of a greater reward after they pass. If there's some life beyond this, I hope to see Liam again one day. I hope he will greet me in the Great Beyond, along with the other pets that I've been lucky to know. He has been a good boy since the first day we saw him together at the no-kill shelter. He has a blue tag around his neck in black marker - Ryan. The grandmas who ran the shelter gave him our last name after our wife brought him in, and they knew we would be back for him. And sure enough days after my wife brought in Liam, we took him home. He began his years with us, eventually traveling the world - by metro, car, bus, ferry, and plane. I think his favorite spot was Amsterdam, where he could see the gulls enjoy the canals and forage around the sunken trash cans that were emptied by claw-crane machines that pulled them out of the ground. 

Patience, kind, anxious, loving. Never the arrogance or aloofness of a cat. He was a kind soul. Graceful, humane, gentle. 

It hurts to lose him, to agree to a vet taking his life with chemicals, but it is the hardest loving thing to do to something you love so much. You end their pain. You say goodbye. You have to let them go. And you hope and pray they knew that they were loved every day. You loved them and they you hope they were never scared or unhappy. You just want them to go into that beyond content... feeling loved. That's what you whisper to them when you say goodbye. I love you.