Most everyone who reads this knows by now, but I still want to post a little something. Last Saturday, August 2nd, we put Skitch down. He was on borrowed time for many months and the week I was in Wisconsin he really took a turn for the worst. When we took him in to the vet his lungs and stomach were full of fluid and he was dying of congestive heart failure. We knew he had only a day or two on his own and made the decision to end his discomfort. It only took seconds for his heart to stop after the medicine was administered. Both Andrew and I are still upset about it. I want to vomit every time I think about it and I'm crying now. When I'm doing things I feel okay, but I think about him every time I would have normally let him out to go to the bathroom. Carter has asked several times where Skitch is and we've explained that he died and isn't coming back, but obviously he doesn't understand. We should get his ashes soon, or some of them at least, and we'll take them to the creepy pet cemetery and spread them there.