When rescue kitty Lark needed medical help, there was only one option.

“You have two options,” the doctor said. “And both are realistic.” 

I sat in a chair at the emergency hospital desperately trying to push his words away.

Lark Kitty, my sweet little rescue cat, was in kidney failure. The light bringer who I adopted after my husband George died, five years ago, had purred and patted away my tears on long nights. 

The too-thin baby who had been rescued from a kill shelter looked as sad as I felt when I first met her at the animal shelter in Pasadena.