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Falling for Jonno was a great move on my part. Not only did I get a loving boyfriend out of the deal, but I also quadrupled the size of my family, enlarged my circle of friends, and gained a much-needed appreciation for the Metropolitan Museum of Art (which had previously given me headaches). I also got a cat.

I’ve never been much of a cat person. I was raised in a dog family, and frankly, I never really understood the feline allure. Nevertheless, I was prepared to give it a go with Lola. After all, when you love someone–really love them–you accept them cats and all.

That said, Lola did not make it easy. Not by a long shot.

Things got off to an inauspicious start. The effort Jonno and I expended loading Lola into her kennel the day we left New York was overwhelming. In fact, I don’t think we let her out once on the drive down, ’cause neither of us wanted to have to put her back in. (NB: This experience was ultimately responsible for the worst decision Jonno and I have ever made.)

Upon arriving at her new home in New Orleans, Lola proceeded to be downright mean to my dog, Gaston. I could understand some skittishness for a couple of weeks–months, even, given the stress of the move–but she kept at it. Lola was somewhat friendlier to the other hounds as they joined the family, but she was never sincere about it. Not that cats ever ooze sincerity, mind you.

Then, too, there was Lola’s restlessness, which was beyond frustrating. She always wanted to set up shop in the most inconvenient spots: on the kitchen table, in the middle of the bathroom floor, on a shelf full of books. Then, just as Jonno and I would relent and sigh and say, “Okay, fine, have it your way,” and move stuff to accommodate her, she’d change her mind and move someplace even weirder.

Despite all this, I tried hard to love Lola. I talked to her, sang to her, rubbed cold things on her head (something she seemed to enjoy). I snuck her spoonfuls of ice cream when Jonno wasn’t looking. And of course, I slipped back into our flooded city to get her out.

Lola hadn’t been feeling well the past few days, I could tell, but that was pretty common. Every six months or so, she’d get lethargic and lie around, just kinda moping. But then as now, she was mobile, she was responsive, she was eating, she never meowed as if she were in pain. Yesterday I picked her up and walked her around the house, and she batted softly at my face. Same old routine.

When I awoke this morning, Lola was laying in a patch of sunlight on the bedroom floor. I absolutely hate it when people, upon looking at dead friends and relatives, say things like, “She looks so peaceful,” but I have to say, Lola really did. I called her to see if she was hungry, but she didn’t budge. I walked over and looked at her to see if she was breathing. I kept looking for a very long time. (She had the ability to go into near-hibernation, which could be really disturbing.) In the end, though, she didn’t move at all.

Lola: I know you lived a lengthy life of nearly 17 years, and I know we were never the best of friends, but still, I’ll miss you.

Jonno: Let me reassure you that Lola died quietly, in her sleep. Also let me reassure you that I do not wait for you to leave town for the summer before killing off our pets. You’re just going to have to trust me on that.

And to the rest of you: Thanks for the concern you’ve expressed for Lola over the years. She may not have appreciated it, but Jonno and I certainly did so on her behalf.