I appreciate the condolences my readers have offered. My cats are an important part of my life, and even with what many would consider a household full (or overfull) remaining to us, we miss the Scot. It's kind of you to take the time to comment: thank you. He was indeed beautiful, and well-loved, and I like Clio's idea of drinking to his memory, preferably in good Scotch.
And thanks as well to anyone who felt sorry but didn't know what to say, and to anyone who wondered why all the fuss about a cat, but refrained from expressing such a thought.
I suppose grief hits people differently. It doesn't necessarily feel like sadness. With me, it takes the form of feeling tired, stupid, and heavy, as if I'd gained 50 pounds overnight (not the case, I assure you: I'm one of those annoying people who lose weight when unhappy). I mind the stupidity more than the fatigue. It took me six hours to put together a quiz, last week. Admittedly, it was a paleography quiz, so I needed to do a certain amount of copying, cutting, and pasting on top of choosing what to test on, but I think I could have done it in two hours in better circumstances. Also, I'm more than usually distractable, so the six hours were interspersed with e-mail and extra trips around the building, because of forgetting things and having to go back for them. But that's how it goes.
Today I feel a bit lighter. Not normal; but ten or 15 of the extra pounds have gone away, and that's enough to make a difference.