Once again, for the last time, we await the return of Cedar Box #10. Just a simple rectangular wooden box full of ashes and an interlocking lid with a brass plate on top bearing a name.

"Gimley." I guess it is a headstone of sorts. To outsiders, it is just a name given to whatever pet is inside. To us, it means eight years of love and affection between species. It means he carried the banner for all who came before him. He was the last.

For the first time in over forty years, we don’t have a pet in the house. We don’t anticipate getting another. It’s too hard to let go. Ten has taken a toll.

He fought as hard as he could, but no one beats the Big C. Cancer. In all that time he did his best to make us feel good. He passed away at home in our arms. It couldn’t have been any other way. Not for him.

Our heads and hearts are full. Two dogs. A rabbit. Five cats. Two parakeets. Ten cedar boxes.