It is always hard to say goodbye to a cherished pet. In 2007, I said goodbye to Tigger, my Manx, who was always at my side when I worked in the garden. My other Manx, Jade, died three weeks ago at a very old age – she would have been 22 next month. After Tigger died, Jade took up his position as my garden companion. She would either sit by my side or perch herself on the garden wall, hidden from view as she watched me and the ever-present parade of people and dogs pass by our house. Jade and I had a favorite thing to do. I would say to her, “Jade, let’s walk in the garden,” and she would get up and follow me down the winding garden pathway. In the fern grotto, one of her favorite places, we would usually stop and enjoy the waterfall, from which she would take a drink. Jade was a grand old lady, and as the years passed, she could no longer climb up to her favorite places and took to lounging in the garden under the camellia bushes or on the brick patio in the warm sun. Her evenings of prowling the garden changed into snuggling in a warm spot inside the house, but during the day she was always in her garden. Her hearing was very poor, and she could no longer hear me ask if she wanted to take a walk in the garden, so I would pick her up and take her around in my arms to all our favorite places. Before she died, Jade reminded me of Grizabella, from the musical “Cats,” the one chosen to be born into a new life. Just like Grizabella’s, Jade’s once-beautiful gray coat no longer had its sheen, and her swift, nimble movements became very slow and methodical. Tigger and Jade are buried next to each other under the shade of a beautiful camellia bush. Memories of them are always with me, and when the pale pink camellias bloom in the fall and winter, my beloved cats are reborn.