I saw you roll your eyes. Don't.

I am one of THOSE people. I adore my cat.

And no, I'm not a crazy cat lady. I only have the one -- Hercules. Granted, he's something of a terror. He loves me and hates pretty much everybody else. He's kind of developed a taste for human flesh (not mine), has been dubbed "the most vicious tame cat ever" and scares the crap out of the maintenance men at my apartment complex. But that's easy to overlook when he curls up on my shoulder and purrs in my ear. Besides, he's a Maine Coon. Such foibles apparently come with the breed.

Our pets are our family. And they should be. (I'm not alone in this belief. Check out azfamily.com's huge gallery of pet photos sent in by viewers. Better yet, send in some of your own pictures!)

I've lost pets before.

The first, Twinkles, had to be put to sleep when I was about 12. She was diabetic and the insulin shots weren't working any more. It was the most humane thing to do. Horrible. But humane. I wasn't allowed to go to the vet with her.

The second, Pharoah, died when I was 20 or so. He had kidney failure. One morning my parents woke up to discover one of his back paws hugely swollen. It was time. The entire family went to kiss him good-bye. I get teary just typing.

Then, seven years ago this summer, my first "my own" cat, Abu, died suddenly. (Teary on this one, too.) Ironically, I was picking him up from boarding at the vet. I set his carrier on the passenger seat of my car and by the time I walked around to the driver's side, he was gone. It was that fast.

I rank it up there among the most miserable experiences of my life. And that's including when I was diagnosed with cancer three years ago.

I have friends who are not pet people. Not the way I am. Not the way my family is. But when Abu died, they didn't have to understand my feelings. They understood me. And that was all they needed to know.

Again, I'm not alone.

At the suggestion of a friend (a major pet person, who works for the Arizona Humane Society), I attended a pet grief seminar at the AHS. I didn't even know there was such a thing. There were like 20 people there.

I've had people tell me they feel a bit silly for being so upset over the death of a pet. Why? A pet is a member of the family. My cat is my kid. (When I went to Rome three years ago, I even called home to check on him, which turned out to be a good thing as I had to help coordinate his kidnapping and subsequent quarantine from thousands of miles and several time zones away. That's a whole other story. Just remember what I said about his taste for human flesh.) My mom calls Hercules and Romeo, my sister's cat, her grandcats.

I dread the day I lose Hercules. I know it's inevitable and I don't think about it often, really only when I read or writer a story about animal abuse. Or when Steve told me about Atlas.

I admit, I gave Herc a big hug when I got home that day. (He just huffed at me the way cats do sometimes, but he also spent most of the evening on my lap.)

There are all kinds of Web sites on the topic of losing a pet. Books. Articles. The story of The Rainbow Bridge. (teary again)

So, when Steve showed me his family blog, then quickly walked away, I understood.

"So many memories, so much love for a truly special and unique feline friend," he wrote the morning Atlas died. "My ever-faithful companion, I can't imagine what the day will be like without him."

Steve had had Atlas for 21 years. I don't care what kind of relationship you're talking about, that's a long time.

"Atlas has been a tremendous blessing in my life. We've been through a lot together and he's actually taught me a lot about life and relationships."

And that's exactly the way is should be.

It's why Steve has other cats. It's why I adopted Herc (an AHS alum) after Abu died. Not as a replacement. Never a replacement. Just somebody new to love.

Pets have a lot to teach us. We just have to be open to learning -- and that includes grieving when we lose them.