For my first-ever pet, Veruca’s clock started running in December 1999, backdated by “at least” two years. We never knew exactly how old she was, only that she was at least two years old at that time, because she’d already had had at least one litter by then. The truth, though, was that she could have been two or she could have been five. There’s not a huge amount of difference between the two in a healthy cat.

That meant that, in 2015, Ruca was at the very minimum 18 years old, and probably closer to 20 or 22. On Saturday, I punched up a cat-to-human age calculator on the Internet. The formula is something like this: 15 human years to the first year, 10 to the second, 4 for every year after that. At 18 years old, the human version of Ruca would be 96 years old. At 20 or 21, the number is more like 105.

And she was fairly spry and healthy all her life. When she began her inevitable downturn late last week, it happened fast. She was done. And even though we weren’t at all surprised, you’re never really prepared – the timing is just never good.

But this morning, at the extreme age of 18+YourGuessIsAsGoodAsMine, Veruca peacefully passed under the exemplary care of our vet, Dr. Johnston, and so our zoo’s population has lessened by one cantankerous, fussy old woman who would have just been annoyed had it gone on much longer.

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