This has got to be one of the hardest posts I’ve ever had to write. Around 3:30 p.m. today, my buddy Clyde crossed the rainbow bridge.

The day began with the first sign that something wasn’t right. Every morning for as long as I can remember, Clyde would wait for me to get out of the shower. That was his way of letting me know he wanted to be picked up and placed on the bathroom sink so he could drink from the faucet—his little daily ritual. But this morning, he didn’t come.

Instead, I found him lying on the kitchen floor next to the air vent, his head down. When I reached down to rub his head, he didn’t give his usual loud purr. That told me more than anything that he just wasn’t feeling good. My wife mentioned that he’d eaten a little, but nowhere near his usual amount.

I had a craft fair to prepare for and some coasters I needed to get printed. Between the power going out mid-print and the rush to get everything finished, I didn’t get the chance to check on Clyde again before leaving. But once I arrived at the fair, I called home. My wife told me he had eaten a bit more and was lying at the end of our bed, where he always slept. Still, something in the back of my mind whispered that we might be nearing the end. I told my wife she should let our daughters know so they could come spend some time with him.

They did. And after helping me load up my things when the fair ended around 2 p.m., they headed home but didn’t stay long.

Around 3 p.m., my wife was watching the Alabama game from our bedroom. Clyde was asleep at the foot of the bed. He woke up, stood, and looked like he wanted to go somewhere but wasn’t quite sure how. He took a couple of steps toward the edge of the bed—and then fell over.

My wife picked him up and placed him gently on the floor, but by then, he was already gone. It happened so quickly. She ran to get me, but the moment I saw him, I knew his precious spirit had already left.

We called the kids and, while they drove back, I went to the backyard to prepare his resting place. When the girls arrived, they spent nearly an hour with him—crying, talking to him, soaking up one last moment with their lifelong friend. Then we placed him in a box with his favorite towel, his favorite toy, and one of his favorite snacks (that one was my daughter’s idea).

Clyde now rests behind the shed, and we plan to place a marker after we get home from church tomorrow.

If he had made it to January, he would have been 21 years old. These last few years were challenging for him—and for us. He was on medication twice a day and had completely lost control of his bowel movements. Our bed was lined with tarps and towels so he could sleep comfortably during the day, and we had to rearrange everything at night so the wife and I could still sleep without worrying. He loved sleeping between us, so we created a little system of towels to protect him—and us—from the inevitable accidents.

It wasn’t easy. But we did it for him. He depended on us, and we loved him.

Because of his declining health, my wife and I haven’t taken a vacation in more than five years. It didn’t feel right to ask anyone else to manage his care. Boarding him was completely out of the question. With his heart condition, the stress alone would have been too much.

Now, with his passing, a huge hole has been created in our lives. The routines, the sounds, the small rituals—all suddenly gone. It’s going to take time to heal, but we’ll get there.

What I know for sure is this: Clyde was loved deeply. And he gave us more love in return than we could ever measure.

He will be greatly missed.