Trudie was our first pet. She was a dainty little kitty with a shiny black coat, beautiful green eyes and a clear, sweet, high-pitched meow. We fell in love with her on the very first visit to the shelter, and it seemed like every little thing she ever did was just impossibly cute or sweet or guaranteed in some way to steal a person's heart. I remember the first time I saw her "hunt," once while we were playing with a feather toy, and how amusing it was to me that even in that predatory posture she looked more precious than feral.

We only knew Trudie for about a month. At the shelter, she'd had a series of colds and infections that seemed to linger and continue even after we brought her home. We took her to the vet on an almost weekly basis, engaged in nightly wrestling sessions to administer antibiotics and eye drops, but never really thought that anything serious was wrong. After about three weeks, she suddenly stopped eating -- which we at first misinterpreted as just a lack of appetite caused by the onset of yet another cold. But a day or two later, she also stopped drinking her water and then stopped moving as well -- she spent the whole day curled up on her blankie at the head of our bed, staring listlessly at the wall in front of her.

We took her to the vet another time and had a series of blood tests run. That evening, the vet gave us the sad news -- Trudie had feline leukemia, and it looked like it had progressed pretty far. We were devastated. We went home and devoted the remainder of our evening to spending "quality" time with Trudie and doing whatever we could to make her more comfortable. We didn't really talk it over much, but we both knew that neither one of us wanted to prolong Trudie's discomfort or pain, especially given the certainty of the eventual outcome. The next afternoon, we carefully set her in her carrier with her blankie and took her back to the vet, where we said our goodbyes. I think it's the hardest thing I've ever done.

Later that day, my fiance grabbed the digital camera and told me he had something to show me. It seems like it's always raining in Seattle, so a rainbow is not a particularly unusual thing here; but when I went outside, I saw the most perfect, vivid double rainbow I think I've ever seen. My fiance called it "Trudie's Rainbow." It wasn't until the next day, while searching online for a pet urn, that I came across a pet grief support website and learned what the "rainbow bridge" is -- but the significance of it certainly struck me. It was probably just some wacky coincidence that there was such a lovely rainbow just a few hours after Trudie passed away, but it was a beautiful and poetic coincidence too.