text: After working the swing shift, Jake Moloney arrived home to find the lights still on in his white-frame bungalow. Joan greeted him at the door. Their six-year-old daughter, Irene, was asleep on the couch.
  
  "What's wrong?" Jake asked.
  
  "Slim died, and Irene's been crying all evening."
  
  "Oh, hell." Slim, Irene's tabby, had been ill for a week. Their vet had warned them the cat might not survive. Jake went over to his sleeping daughter, her eyelids still red. He kissed her lightly on the forehead and whispered, "We'll get another cat soon, don't worry."
  
  But that was not to be.
  
  In Sweet Home, Oregon, Rebecca Smith called out for her cat. "Bib! Bib! Come here right now, you little devil!"
  
  Bib had always raced to her call at mealtime.
  
  "Lee," she cried, "have you seen Bib?"
  
  Leon Smith put down his newspaper. "Not since yesterday. Isn't he showing up for breakfast?"
  
  "No. Lee, I'm scared. What if he's got that virus thing you were telling me about?" She descended from the porch and walked the path into the woods. Shortly, she spied the cat's body twisted in an unnatural position. Ants and other insects were already at work on the remains. Rebecca screamed, "Aaiioo! No. No. No!"
  
  Leon ran out. When he saw Bib's dead body, he took the grieving woman in his arms. They remained silent. They knew they'd never have another companion like Bib.