Here's something I wrote today to well-wishers after our 18-year-old cat Pudding died of natural causes early this morning in my arms:

We had 18 awesome years with this cat. We spent some time this morning recounting some of the many good times we had with this amazing creature...she played fetch, could catch milk bottle caps in mid-air, and could hunt voles and birds despite being an indoor cat (she used to escape once in a while).

She survived three houses, three presidents and two dogs.

The way you see her sitting in the photo is the way she always sat...paws crossed or neatly lined up in front of her. Her eyes were bright yellow and round, and she loved to be turned upside-down and have her belly rubbed. She nursed us through some bad times, and was always happy to keep us company late at night.
She was so quiet and stealthy that some friends still think we never had a cat.

Her real name is Morticia (which she came with from the rescue), but she always loved pudding, and that name just stuck.

We have more of these stories, but you get the idea. When you get a pet, you know that someday you are probably going to face a day like I had today. It's hard as hell when you have to let a vulnerable, trusting creature go, with the only consolation being that you 'did the right thing.'

Is it worth it? 18 years with Pudding says 'absolutely.'