This one was a bit of a shock. When we left town a week ago, he seemed to be perfectly fine. A couple days ago when I checked in, he was hanging out at the neighbor’s house, where he’d maintained a second residence for more than a decade.

Then yesterday morning said neighbor texted that he was not well and suggested taking him to the animal hospital. By midafternoon, after a couple of increasingly dire phone calls with the vet, we were discussing Youth in Asia. And that was the end of that. It was a stern reminder that the Stark Fist of Removal can come for anyone at any time.

Sid was a true free spirit who would not tolerate being cooped up for more than an hour or two at a time. He also had the kind of freedom that comes from being — how to say this nicely? — a cat of not a lot of brain. Worry never creased his brow in all his days; he slept less like a cat than like a human child: deep and hard and with an angelic glow. He was handsome and charming and he knew it. He was a good boy.

His departure means that our formerly four-cat household is down to a single feline resident. I will say no more about her, lest the wrathful gods be watching. Hug some creature that you love today.