Ten years ago, I went to the SPCA to find a companion for my cat Claude. In one cage were two young cats with beautiful tortoiseshell coloring -- one mostly black with brown speckles, and one "dilute" -- gray with tan and white.

The gray cat reached out through the bars of her cage and repeatedly flexed her fingers right at me, kneading the air. I knew what that meant: She picked me.

I adopted both kitty sisters, and because of their speckled coloring, my boyfriend and I named them after fish. The dark one was very small, so of course she was Anchovy. It took a while to find an appropriate fishy name for the other, but eventually we found there was a fish called a grayling. Perfect.

What no one could know at the time was that both kitties had been born with kidney disease. Anchovy died at age 2; Grayling wasn't sick at all until March of this year. With some incredible veterinary care, she survived her first crisis and got to spend another six months of happy, active life at home before a second episode put her back in the hospital.

Although she recovered again, she was never going to get better. She needed medications and subcutaneous fluids, both of which she hated. When a blood test just a week later showed that she was again in kidney failure, we decided enough was enough. I spent a couple of days just petting and playing with her -- no drugs, no needles. On Saturday, her usually sparkling personality began to fade, and on Sunday, Sept. 9, I brought her back to the hospital, and she was put to sleep.

A little bit about this exceptional cat ...

-- There was nothing aloof or "catlike" about her personality -- she was an extrovert, always interested in everyone else in the room, human or animal. If you were sick, she was Nurse Grayling.

-- She would sleep curled up at our feet, but with an elbow up on one of our ankles, like she was leaning on the armrest of a chair.

-- Some of her parts were apparently stolen from another cat. One of her back legs and a patch on her neck were pure striped tan tabby -- the rest of her was speckled tortoiseshell. Because of the dividing line of color down the middle of her face, we called her Frank Gorshin Kitty.

-- No box of tissues was safe in her presence.

-- While we were having some work done on the apartment, the cats lived in a neighbor's bathroom. Grayling spent her time in prison learning a new skill: how to open cabinets. We had to put childproof locks on all our cabinets after that.

-- She loved to watch the stock ticker on TV. We figured she must be monitoring her investments, so we called her Financial Guru Grayling T. Kitten.

-- She helped my "Escape" key escape -- she ran off with it years ago, and it hasn't been seen since.

-- She liked to talk to her favorite toy, Flippy Fish. She would also carry it around with her and drop it in her water dish. Then take it out, soaking the carpet. Then drop it in again.

-- She knew how to whisper. She would stare at you intently, cock her head to one side, and make the tiniest little "Meh?" as if to say, "Excuse me, I don't mean to bother you, but if it wouldn't be too much trouble, could I please have your attention?" Then she would do "the head" -- twisting and dipping her head in the direction she wanted you to go, until you got up and followed.

It's always difficult to lose a beloved pet, and I want to thank all the vets who showed Grayling (and me) so much care and compassion, including Gray's regular vet, Dr. Matzkin, and everyone at VCA Kirkwood in Newark, Del. ... Dr. Bounds and her staff at the University of Pennsylvania in Philadelphia, where Grayling spent a week in the hospital ... and especially Dr. Craine and everyone (and I do mean EVERYONE!) at VCA Newark. Gray spent a week in the hospital there in March, another week in August, plus various other brief stays and appointments, including her final one. It was a great comfort at the end to know that I was bringing her to a place where the people knew her and cared about her.