A year ago, we had three cats.

Then a neighbor dog got Ernie, an orange Cornish Rex (think Austin Powers’ cat with a bit of hair). And last night — ironically, during  a game called “Pets on Parade,” featuring discussion and celebration of each pet in the house — Annabelle found Izzy. Izzy was Ray’s first Cornish Rex, bought a million (14 or so) years ago to keep his original cat company. The cats never liked each other, but Izzy and Ray fell in love. He once wrote a short story featuring Izzy as President of the Earth.

Izzy was painfully old, and frail. Her kidneys had given up and I hadn’t seen her in days; she was sleeping — and peeing — in a cat bed under a desk in a far corner of the house. Annabelle took it better than expected, as did Ray, though there were a few tears when I got home and found them standing over her, the game over.

That leaves Lulu as the Last Cat Standing. Lulu is only 2, she’ll be around for a long time. It wasn’t til she was gone that I realized how little appreciation I had for Izzy — she was the only cat who didn’t bird (or rat or mouse, is that an expression I can get away with?) and she was the only other mother in the house. She once gave birth to three kittens in what is now Sophie’s closet.

I’m tempted to buy Ray a kitten for Father’s Day, but as the staunchest anti-cat person I know, I’m also tempted not to. Still, like so many things — sea creatures, roller coasters, hikes down the Grand Canyon — cats are something my kids appreciate. So maybe, in appreciation of that, I’ll make a call to the Cornish Rex breeder in town.