Yesterday our cat, Sabrina, spent practically all day in my lap. It must have been due to the unseasonably cool weather because this afternoon she was on the window sill in the sun. I'd been worried, in case she knew something I didn't. Maybe I was ill. Cats seem to sense illness. They attend the sick. Or perhaps she was ill and needed the comfort. She'll be seventeen in the fall. A fair age for a cat.

I have had three cats and two marriages. Three cats whose overlapping lives have spanned my days in law school and the corporation and my freelancing career; several states and homes; my being single, married, a father, then single again and married again, and the kids grown and gone.

Luna arrived at my Brooklyn apartment when I was still in law school. Rachel joined him in Rochester for a few years. When Luna died, Sabrina took over as Rachel's companion. Now there is only Sabrina.

Three cats and a span of almost thirty years. Sabrina, who knew Rachel, who knew Luna who knew me when I was a lot younger.

Sabrina was rescued from a neighbor's garage, before my first marriage ended, before my kids left and grew up. It will be difficult when Sabrina goes and breaks the final thread to the past.