She'd been blind for years and deaf for nearly half that. She kept to Mouse's room and her bed, no longer venturing out into the yard to hunt birds or sleep in the sun.
She'd started forgetting things and stoped caring for herself in the usual fastidiouis manner. Even her favorite catnip didn't rouse her.
See? Even now I'm giving you justifications for that awful choice, fussing over the guilt instead of giving myself permission to just be sad.
She was a good cat.
She is missed.