One day, I received a frantic call from a cat-loving friend. She had been feeding the cats and met someone who was interested in taking Billy and Sugar home. I immediately felt ill. My sweetheart Steve and I had agonized about whether or not to bring them into our small home.

Our previous rescue from the same colony was an affectionate black cat named Turtleman. He had been the love of our lives for over 10 years, but we knew that in a few short months we would lose him to cancer. He had already undergone two surgeries, and our vet advised against a third. Turtleman was almost 17 and further surgery would only diminish the quality of his and our lives.

Our grief at the thought of losing him gnawed at us daily. Even thinking about adopting other kitties while he was still with us made us feel guilty. Would Turtleman feel betrayed if we brought home Sugar and Billy while he was so ill and vulnerable?

But after my friend's phone call, we realized how terrible we would feel if we lost Billy and Sugar. And so, we drove to the parking lot to bring them home, making sure to keep them separate from Turtleman. Instead of lessening my grief, however, I was surprised to find that their youthful, healthy presence only intensified it.

My enthusiasm about including them in our family was dampened by my resentment that they were thriving while Turtleman was dying. I knew it was stupid to feel that way, but my heart was aching for my ailing cat. Every day, Steve and I reminded Turtleman of how much we loved him and were going to miss him. We told him that the two new babies could never replace him and that we brought them home in a feeble human attempt to stave off our grief.